Harry Potter & the Ritual of Merlin's Choice
by AngelMorph
Summary: What if Voldemort had not called for a cease-fire half-way through the final battle? What if the death toll had continued to mount until in the end, Harry stood victorious but alone? What if Harry decided that such an outcome was unacceptable and set out to change things, to re-write the prophesy that had always defined his life? WARNING: not JUST about time-travel.
1. Chapter 1

"_You have fought," said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. _

"_Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. _

"_I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one more hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, I shall join my Death Eaters in the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour." _

Had he been alone at the time the announcement was made, Harry might have taken Voldemort up on his offer. However, if the way Ron and Hermione were shaking their heads was any indication, to do so would be impossible short of knocking them both out first, and leaving them helpless.

He contemplated that option briefly—maybe if he covered them in his cloak—but Hermione cut off his train of thought before he could come up with a more concrete plan. "Don't let him play on your guilt, Harry. He's planning on killing us all either way," she said. "You go back to the castle and view Snape's memories—they might be important—Ron and I will follow him and take care of Nagini."

Harry hesitated. While he'd been considering walking himself into Voldemort's trap, it wasn't in his nature to let his friends go in his place. He was the one Voldemort wanted. They shouldn't have to deal with Nagini—and probably Voldemort himself—without him.

They could all follow Voldemort, but his instincts told him Snape's memories contained crucial information; someone needed to view them.

He almost suggested that _they_ look into the memories while _he_ dealt with Nagini, but they'd likely interpret that suggestion as an attempt to surrender. So, instead he said, "Perhaps we should all go back and look at the memories; if they're as important as Snape made them seem, we might have to change our plans."

Hermione shook her head, "We don't have time for that, Harry. People are dying."

_You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one more hour in the Forbidden Forest…One hour…_

Voldemort's words echoed in his mind. Hermione was right, they didn't have time. Back to his original plan then, "Perhaps, I should just turn myself over to Voldemort then—maybe get a lucky shot at the snake–and buy you all some time to check out the memories and then finish him off, while he's busy gloating..."

"HARRY JAMES POTTER! Don't you DARE even consider it. You turning yourself over is exactly what HE wants, and it wouldn't do us an ounce of good!" burst Hermione

Harry glanced at his other friend, hoping for support. He didn't get it. "That goes for me too, mate," Ron added, "I've already lost one brother tonight, don't you go adding yourself to the list."

Harry considered arguing further but the look on both their faces told him it would be a wasted effort. So, instead, he gathered up his Invisibility Cloak and thrust it at Hermione, "At least take my Cloak; you'll need it more than me if you're going to try and sneak up on Voldemort."

She shook her head, refusing to take it, "We couldn't possibly, you're the one he's looking for; you'll need it to stay hidden till you're ready to face him."

"Please take it, Hermione. How else do you propose to get close enough to dismantle that shield he's using to protect Nagini? It should cover the two of you well enough, if you're careful. I'm heading away from Voldemort. I'll be fine."

Reluctantly, she accepted the offered cloak, "We'll take good care of it," she promised.

She turned to Ron, "We should probably get going," she gestured for him to follow her through the tunnel entrance. He followed without a word. Harry brought up the rear.

The silence was heavy as they made their way back through the tunnel and there were no goodbyes when they split up at the base of the willow. Ron and Hermione donned the cloak heading into the forest. Harry turned to the castle, instead, ducking spellfire from all directions as he crossed Hogwarts' lawn, where the bulk of the fighting seemed to be occurring.

When he finally reached the castle, he found it unnaturally silent. The corridors were empty, except for a few stragglers and the bodies of the dead. He ran faster, the crystal flask of Snape's last thoughts held tightly in his right hand, past the empty Great Hall, past Fred Weasley's corpse, past Susan Bones battling two Death Eaters to a standstill—there was simply no time to stop.

Only when he reached the entrance of the headmaster's office, did he pause briefly, and even then, only to guess at the password, before sprinting up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. He glanced briefly at the empty portraits that usually held the former headmasters and headmistresses, before crossing over to the cabinet which held the Headmaster's stone Pensieve.

He was surprised at how light the basin felt as he carried it from the cabinet to the Headmaster's desk, though perhaps that was simply the adrenaline still coursing through his system from his run across the grounds and castle. His heart was still pounding frantically as he uncorked the flask and poured out the memories within.

Harry took only a brief moment to brace himself, diving into the swirling silver-white memories, before he could change his mind. He took no time to consider what he might find within.

What he _did_ find was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought it possible that Snape and his mother had been childhood friends, and had had a falling out only once Snape started hanging round with the wrong crowd. That Snape had been in _love_ with his mother, had _begged _Voldemort to spare her, then turned himself in to Dumbledore when his Master had refused.

That Aunt Petunia had once _wanted _to be a witch was inconceivable... And, Snape's hatred of all things Potter made the idea that he might have promised to protect Harry, unfathomable...

Even the fact that Dumbledore had been dying before that fateful night in the Astronomy Tower and had asked —no_ implored—_Snape to finish him off when the timing was right, had never crossed his mind once in all the times he's replayed that awful memory in his mind.

That even after his death, Dumbledore had guided Snape's actions was just as hard to swallow as the idea that the doe Patronus had been Snape's, that he had been the one to give them back Gryffindor's sword.

But those revelations were of little import when placed beside Dumbledore's greatest secret—hidden in Snape's memories: After all he'd been through, he wasn't meant to live, _he wasn't meant to survive_. He was one of Voldemort's last remaining links to life, his accidental Horcrux.

_Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

He had to let Voldemort kill him.

The thought terrified him. All his life, he'd been fighting to survive; to throw that all away was not an easy thing. But there was no doubt in his mind that it was what he had to do, no second guessing, no thoughts of running.

His decision made, he wasted no time, painfully aware that time was running out on the hour before Voldemort joined his Death Eaters in battle. He stood to leave the office and didn't look back.

The castle was just as empty, heading back towards the Entrance Hall, as it had been on the way up. Though he knew each step took him a little closer to his death, still he clung to the shadows, avoiding notice as best he could without his cloak. He did not sprint as he had on his way up the Headmaster's office, but he moved quickly all the same.

He passed the corridor where he had seen Susan, on his way to the Headmaster's office. This time, it too, was silent. Two bodies lay crumpled on the ground. One wore the trademark Death Eater mask. The other was Susan.

_If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one...__ You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself._

Voldemort's words echoed through his mind at the sight, but were replaced just as quickly by the memory of Dumbledore's conversation about him with Snape: _Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry… cannot die… the boy…the boy must die… Voldemort himself must do it... die at the right moment… _

He did not slow. Voldemort was waiting for him in the forest, and though Nagini still lived, anchoring Voldemort to life, the right moment was now. His job was to die. Hermione and Ron would take care of the snake.

_But what if they didn't?_

It was that thought that made him stop when he came across Neville near the entrance of the castle. Best to be absolutely sure. He took the time to tell Neville about Nagini, not that she was a Horcrux, but that she needed to be killed before Voldemort could be destroyed, that Ron and Hermione were trying to kill her, but that if they should fail...

He would have said more, but the words were cut off by a burning pain cleaving his head.

_He was standing in a clearing. On the ground before him lay Nagini—dead. The glistening cage that had previously protected her was nowhere in sight, replaced instead by a basilisk fang imbedded deep at the base of her head._

_Voldemort's attention was not on his fallen familiar, however, but rather split between the struggling red-headed wizard being held in place by Lucius Malfoy and the curly-haired witch who lay withering at his feet under the effects of a well placed __Cruciatus Curse__. _

_He lifted his curse on the witch, granting her a brief respite, and demanded, "Where is Potter?" _

_Hermione remained silent, shaking through the after-effects of her most recent bout of torture. Ron did not, "We'll never tell you—so you might as well kill us now."_

_Voldemort laughed, almost a cackle, "So anxious to hasten your death, _Mugglelover_?" He spat the last word. _

_Ron glared at him, and his defiance seemed to further incense Voldemort. A twisted grin crossed his face as he said, "Very well. I do grow bored of this game." He slashed his wand, pointing it at the boy, "Avada Kedavra!" _

_Green light lit the clearing as he turned back to the witch at his feet, "Will you tell me what I want to know, _Mudblood_?"_

_Hermione managed to push herself to her knees from her prone position and intone, "Never!" with all the strength she could before she too was consumed by a flash of green._

_Before the vision faded out completely, Harry heard Voldemort address him directly, "I know you're watching, Potter. You sent your best friends to die in your place. How many more will you let die because you are too weak to face me yourself?"_

Neville caught the change in Harry's expression, "Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear away the memory of the Dark Lord's words. "You won't have to worry about the snake, after all, Neville. Ron and Hermione took care of it. But–" his voice cracked, "then Voldemort killed them too. I've got to go finish off what they started."

Neville grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. "We're all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?"

"Yeah, I —if I don't succeed—"

"We'll give him hell for you, Harry. Just, don't go getting yourself killed on purpose, okay mate?"

Harry swallowed, the weight of the lie crushing him, but he managed to nod in agreement. Seemingly satisfied with his response, Neville let go and nodded back, then turned to head back out into the battle that still raged on the lawn.

Harry walked on, ducking spellfire as he crossed the grounds once more—one last time.

* * *

**A/N:** I would like to start by thanking everyone who helped make this story possible. Firstly, **Mistri**** Tonks' Admirer**, with whom I first brainstormed this story, back in 2005. Secondly, **Telepwen**, who convinced me on October 30th, 2011, to take part in NaNoWriMo 2011, and who has supported me through the process. Thirdly, **LiL-kristin-o7**, my pre-beta, who offered her invaluable input. Lastly, but not least, my beta, **Arnel**, who took me back, after 5 years of silence.

NB: This story evolves from a single change from canon, which can be found in the opening excerpt. For those of you who _don't_ have JKR's text memorised, please refer to "Chapter 33 - The Prince's Tale: to spot the difference. For those of you that _do_ have JKR's text memorised, any text you recognize, isn't mine, though I tried to keep the direct excerpts to a minimum…


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry reached the edge of the forest he paused, the chill of the Dementors holding him back. In his current frame of mind, he could not call forth a single happy thought to summon a Patronus.

As he stood there, contemplating, his thoughts turned briefly to Quidditch. Absently, he pulled his Snitch out from the pouch at his neck, seeking comfort in the familiar. His mind made the intuitive leap:

_I open at the close._

Just like that, he knew what the words meant, knew what he had to say to open it. And the moment he found the Resurrection Stone within, he understood the intended purpose of Dumbledore's final gift: to call the spirits of his dead loved ones in this time of need. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts. As he closed his eyes, he willed them to appear.

When he opened his eyes moments later, his friends and family stood scattered around him; not in the flesh exactly, but a definite presence, certainly more substantial than the Hogwarts ghosts.

His eyes fell upon Hermione and Ron first. They stood together, and to one side, looking somehow hardier than they had when last he had seen them— in their dying moments. Instead, they were as they had been, before the camping trip from hell.

Even Sirius and Remus shone with a vitality that they had not possessed in all the time he had known them. There was no glint of insanity in Sirius' eyes, no eternal weariness on Remus' face. Then there were his parents, standing side-by-side, and smiling as broadly as they did in his favourite photograph of them. They were _all_ smiling at him.

And still Harry's heart pounded in fear. Even their smiles could not shake his fear of dying.

And overlaying that fear was the guilt, the feeling that he was responsible for each of their deaths. He tried to apologize, "I wanted to say, I'm so—" but Hermione cut him off before he could say the word.

"Don't you dare apologize, Harry," she admonished, "You practically begged us not to go, but it needed to be done, Harry."

Beside her, Ron nodded his agreement, "You know I didn't want to die any more than you do, mate. But I'm proud to have gone down the way I did, destroying a piece of that bastard!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again without speaking. He was about to let himself be killed for the exact same reason; who was he to argue?

Instead, he nodded his acknowledgement then squared his shoulders against the chill of the Dementors, his mind made up.

The spectres stayed by his side as he walked deeper into the forest, their presence lessening the Dementors' effect and granting him the courage to put one foot in front of the other despite the knowledge that each step brought him closer to death.

The sounds of the battle faded behind him, as he moved deeper into the forest. Time seemed to slow. The forest was unnaturally quiet, the only sound the crunch of his steps. He encountered none of the forest's native creatures, nor any sign that they might still be around.

It seemed like he'd been walking forever—and no time at all—when he finally came across his first sign of life: the sound of two Death Eaters, Yaxley and Dolohov, stumbling through the nearby trees, their wands blazing. If their reaction was anything to go by, they'd heard him too.

Harry slipped the stone into his pocket, as they came into full view. Then, he gathered his courage and stepped forward his empty hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I believe Voldemort is expecting me," he called out, speaking loudly to keep the fear out of his voice

At the sound of his voice, Dolohov and Yaxley turned their wands on him. It took all of Harry's willpower to not draw his own wand, to make no move to protect himself. "Take me to your Master," he repeated himself. Neither man showed any sign of understanding the reference.

Yaxley looked far more interested in cursing Harry than leading him anywhere, but he did so all the same, shoving Harry forward and kicking him as he directed him deeper into the forest. Though he stumbled, Harry made no move to resist, allowing himself to be directed, albeit roughly to the clearing he had seen in his vision. The lack of curses confirmed Harry's suspicions that the Dark Lord had been clear in his orders: he wanted to kill Harry Potter himself.

They couldn't have been travelling more than a minute when Harry caught his first glimpse of the firelight shining through the trees. As he stumbled through the last of the trees, his eyes took in the small gathering of Death Eaters, those few that Voldemort had held back from the battle.

In the centre of the clearing stood Voldemort, Nagini's corpse hanging like a scarf across his shoulders, stroking her with an uncharacteristic gentleness with his left hand while his right gripped the Elder Wand. Two human corpses lay crumpled on the ground where they had fallen, Hermione at the Dark Lord's feet and Ron a few paces away.

Voldemort looked up at Harry's ungraceful arrival.

Harry met the dark wizard's eyes, despite the fear coursing through his body, "I believe you've been expecting me," he managed to say.

Voldemort stared back at him, his expression unreadable, "Ah, Mr Potter, I was beginning to think that I'd misjudged you," he smiled maliciously, "but here you are. Finally come to join your friends in death?"

Harry stepped closer, meeting his nemesis's eyes, red and soulless, as he answered, "Let's just get this over with, Tom," the words braver than he felt.

The effect of that one word was instantaneous. The blank expression in Voldemort's eyes transformed into a glare so forceful that Harry thought that he might drop dead from that alone. "My name is Lord Voldemort!"

Harry snorted, his eminent demise stripping him of his life-preserving inhibitions. "You can make up all the names you'd like, Tom, but you'll always be Tom Marvolo Riddle… Now are you planning to kill me? Or are you just going to stand there and glare all night?"

He took another step forward.

Voldemort started to raise his wand, his expression unreadable, once more, "So anxious to die, Potter?"

"HARRY! NO!" a voice, from behind Harry, interrupted.

Harry turned; tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing stood Hagrid, struggling against the ropes binding him securely.

"NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH —" he repeated, only to be interrupted by a silent curse from Yaxley, before he could finish his question.

Harry turned his attention back to Voldemort. Despite his earlier bravado, it took conscious effort not to draw his wand as Voldemort raised his own once more. He'd come here to die. He was Voldemort's last Horcrux. He had to die.

The silence was heavy, the only sound the crackling of the fire, as the two wizards continued to stare across it at one another. Finally, Voldemort spoke, "Harry Potter… The Boy Who Lived…"

His proclamation was followed by another brief silence, then the words, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a flash of green light, and Harry knew no more.

* * *

When Harry awoke he was surrounded by a bright mist. Slowly, the mist dissipated, transforming itself into what looked to be an empty and clean version of King's Cross Station.

He was alone, except for a writhing form. Harry reckoned it was a physical manifestation of the Horcrux that Voldemort had destroyed when he hit Harry with the Killing Curse. It lay beneath one of the seats and was shaped vaguely like a naked child, if someone had taken a naked child, whipped it to within an inch of its life then set it on fire until its skin was raw, rough, and flayed-looking.

It made the most pitiful noises and Harry stood staring at it, feeling like a coward, unable to bring himself to touch it and yet unable to step away.

He was still standing there, staring, when he was startled by the appearance of Headmaster Dumbledore — or what looked like the Headmaster. He was just as Harry remembered him, in appearance, but when it came to dispensing information and explanations, he was far more forthcoming with Harry than he had ever been in life.

First, Dumbledore explained how Voldemort had failed—thorough his own greed—to kill Harry, killing instead the Horcrux that Harry had harboured for so many years. He then elaborated on how Voldemort had, unintentionally, anchored Harry to life. Voldemort's absorption of Lily's sacrifice into his own blood, at his resurrection, kept the magic alive, for as long as he himself survived.

The Headmaster explained how the bond between Harry and Voldemort worked to given Harry's wand power over any that Voldemort might wield. They even spoke of the Deathly Hallows: about Dumbledore's ill-advised quest for them, and about how Harry had come to be the true master of death.

Whether it was the Headmaster's intention or not, the more they spoke, the more the true meaning of the prophecy became clear to Harry, and the more he realized how truly self-fulfilling it was. Not a single word of it would have been true, had Voldemort not heard it and tried to stave off defeat by first trying to kill him and then trying to use his blood — to the same end. And yet, that same prophecy had moulded Harry's whole life, moulded him into a sacrifice that need never have been.

So, when Dumbledore offered him a choice he had not been expecting—the choice between going back, and moving on—the choice—which should have been a simple one—wasn't. He had lost so much already: his parents, his childhood, his mentors, his adolescence, his best friends, his innocence … and yet yearn as he might to move on, to stop fighting, he could not bring himself to give up what remained or to forsake the Wizarding world and those few friends of his that still lived.

He hesitated, "It's just so— I mean, even if I go back, it doesn't change anything. Everyone will still be dead: Mum, Dad, Sirius, Moody, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Ron, Hermione...and how many others? How many others died while I tracked down Horcruxes?"

The platitude with which Dumbledore answered—about pitying the living instead of the dead—did nothing to calm Harry's growing anger.

"It just seems like such a waste," the boy continued, "Why did so many have to die? The war should have ended years ago… it shouldn't have been my job to end it!"

A contemplative look crossed the Headmaster's face and he seemed to struggle with the question of whether he should share something or not. It was not an expression that Harry was used to seeing on Dumbledore's face.

When he finally spoke, Dumbledore seemed to choose his words carefully, "With strong conviction, and virtuous intentions, there is perhaps, a way..."

He paused before continuing, "Most consider it just a fey tale and just to attempt it requires the unanimous agreement of the entire International Confederation of Wizards. But there are reports of a way, not to turn back time—which would create colossal paradoxes—but to instead create a split—a sort of alternate universe, one might call it—by introducing someone from the present to a point in the past. Both universes would continue to exist, but the person travelling back would live out the rest of their life in the newly created universe.

"Perhaps, if you were to go back, once the battle is won, you might try your hand at re-writing the world you live in…"

In the end, Harry realised that he needed to go back.

Not for those he'd left behind—most of those he cared for deeply were on this side of the veil.

Not from any desire to finish off Voldemort—he'd more than done his part by dying, let someone else finish him off.

No, he decided to go back out of a burning desire to set things right, to erase the prophecy that should never have become more than eerie words uttered in a seedy tavern.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks once again to my pre-betas **LiL-kristin-o7 **and **Telepwen**, as well as my beta, **Arnel**.I would also like to take a moment to thank **AJ Granger**—the very first person to review this story—over on , as well as the many people who added it to their alerts.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry awoke to the feeling of the cold forest ground against his face, and an ache that filled his body from head to toe, but he had the presence of mind to keep his eyes closed, and not to stir. Though he could feel his wand in his pocket where he'd left it, he made no move to draw it. Instead, he maintained the illusion of death as best he could while trying to get his bearings. Ignoring his discomfort, he concentrated instead on his sense of hearing.

The clearing—if that was still where he was—was surprisingly quiet. The only sounds he could make out were the crackling of the fire, some hurried whispers, and the sound of scuffling. Where were the cheers of triumph and jubilation? Shouldn't Voldemort and his followers be celebrating his apparent demise? Curious, he risked a quick glimpse and caught sight of Voldemort getting to his feet, a few paces away. Had the destruction of his final Horcrux knocked the Dark Lord out?

Voldemort brushed away his servants' offers of assistance, but he seemed wary of approaching Harry. Perhaps he suspected that his nemesis was not truly dead? Whatever the reason, he sent one of his Death Eaters to check on Harry instead of doing so himself. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was his choice of servant; Narcissa Malfoy cared more for the potential fate of her son than for ensuring her Master's victory, and was more than content to lie to serve her purpose.

When she stood and proclaimed, "He's dead," the change in mood was instantaneous. The gathering of Death Eaters in the clearing was small, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in enthusiasm. There was shouting, and cheering, and stomping of feet. There were flashes of light, visible through Harry's closed eyelids. And, then there were curses, as —one after another—each of the Death Eaters took turns cursing Harry's "corpse".

Somehow, he managed to maintain his facade all through Voldemort's premature victory celebration. Even when Hagrid was forced at wandpoint to carry him through the forest—back to the frontline of the battlefield — he succeeded in feigning death through their entire trek.

The sounds of the still raging battle had grown in volume, as they approached the forest's edge, such that when they finally reached it, the battle sounds finally eclipsed the celebratory Death Eater cheers.

They paused then, and Voldemort addressed the battlefield once more, his voice magically magnified, "Your hero is dead. He and his _sidekicks_ were killed as they attempted to flee, leaving you all to die in their places. I have brought you Harry Potter's body as proof of his treachery, and of his demise at my hands. His companions I have left to rot in the forest and be eaten by scavengers—a fate befitting of cowards." He paused before addressing Hagrid, "Lay him down at my feet—where he belongs."

Harry could feel Hagrid shaking as he complied, gently laying him on the blood-soaked grass. He struggled to contain his need to comfort his friend with some sign, any sign, that he wasn't truly dead, but he knew to do so would be unwise. Hagrid was notoriously bad at keeping secrets...

"The battle is over," Voldemort continued. My forces can easily slaughter what remains of your pitiful resistance. But Lord Voldemort is generous. I offer you a final opportunity to surrender; if you lay down your wands and bow before your Lord and Master, you will be spared. Continue you futile resistance and share the fate of you hero."

There was silence on the battlefield, as Death Eaters and the resistance alike took in the Voldemort's words. Harry chanced a quick peek at the scene. Bodies littered the ground, too many for him to identify them all from such a quick glimpse, though he thought he recognized Flitwick and more than one red-headed corpse.

Harry never did find out if anyone was planning to take Voldemort up on his offer; for, mere seconds after the offer was made, Neville charged Voldemort—unsuccessfully— and the battle recommenced.

Voldemort's boast that his forces outnumbered the resistance was shattered, before long, by the arrival of reinforcements. First came hundreds of witches and wizards—the families and friends of those already fighting—and Grawp. They were followed by the arrival of Buckbeak, and a flock of thestrals, who attacked Voldemort's giants and Death Eaters from the air. Then, a herd of centaurs burst from the forest to join the fray, and a legion of house-elves—lead by Kreacher—charged out from the kitchens, wielding cutlery of all shapes and sizes.

Chaos reigned, and Harry took advantage of everyone's distraction to spring to his feet and hide himself in the crowd—what he wouldn't do for his cloak at that moment—while trying to keep Voldemort in his sights. As the fighting moved off the grounds and into the castle proper, a need to defend himself from attack at all angles, hampered Harry's attempts to reach Voldemort.

Had the Death Eaters all forgotten Voldemort's orders to leave Harry Potter to him? Or perhaps they simply thought such orders now voided by Voldemort's unsuccessful Killing Curse? Or... did they simply not recognize him; he was supposed to be dead…

Whatever the reason, the distraction of defending himself, and that of watching helplessly as first Seamus Finnigan and then Hannah Abbott were killed by Death Eaters caused Harry to temporarily lose sight of the Dark Lord. Harry weaved his way through the crowd; he witnessed Dolohov and Walden blast Hagrid against a stone wall—then kill him. He then saw Neville brought down by Fenrir Greyback, and Yaxley bring down Lee Jordan. He passed Aberforth as the older wizard stunned Rookwood, only to see Thicknesse kill Aberforth.

When Harry caught sight of Voldemort, once more, he was standing in the centre of the Great Hall and locked in battle with McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley. However, before Harry could reach him, the young wizard's attention was drawn to the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange in a heated duel with Ginny and Luna. The young witches were putting up a good fight, but Bellatrix clearly outmatched them. Harry changed course, intent on helping them out, but he was still halfway across the Hall when a jet of Killing Curse green caught Ginny in the chest.

Luna was saved from sharing the same fate by the arrival of a vengeful Molly Weasley, who arrived yelling, "THAT WAS MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" and pushed her out of harm's the way.

Harry had never seen the Weasley matron so angry. Enraged, Molly was more than a match for Bellatrix, and the dark witch's taunts that she'd already killed Arthur and two of Molly's sons, only served to fuel that same rage. It wasn't long before the red-haired matron landed a killing blow.

Across the Hall, Voldemort screamed, blasting his opponents backward with the force of his fury. His response to Bellatrix's death caught Harry by surprise—though he'd known she was Voldemort's best lieutenant, he'd never considered the Dark Lord one for emotional attachment; he treated most of his servants like disposable commodities.

However, when Voldemort turned his wand on Molly Weasley, Harry reacted instinctively, roaring, "_Protego!_" before the Dark Lord could utter a single curse.

The appearance of the resulting Shield Charm, and the power with which it glowed, drew Voldemort's attention at last—and that of the rest of the crowd.

Silence fell abruptly and no one interfered as Harry covered the last few yards to stand before his nemesis, nor did anyone interfere with their duel when it began. In fact, for as long as the duel lasted, there was no other fighting—every witch, wizard, and being stood rooted in place, their attention focused on the duelling pair at the centre of the Hall, to the exclusion of all else.

It probably would have ended far more quickly had the two not wasted quite so much time trading insults and taunts. Eventually, however, Voldemort's luck ran out and he was struck down by a killing blow that had emerged from his own wand—or rather the Elder wand, which though wielded by Voldemort, considered Harry it's Master—and he fell as though in slow motion to lie crumpled on the ground.

Only after Voldemort's defeat did the fighting start up again, the combatants bursting back into motion as though a spell had been broken. Though many of his Death Eaters survived—among them some of his best fighters, Yaxley, Dolohov, Macnair, Fenrir Greyback, and Thicknesse—they were outnumbered, and their Master's death had robbed them of some of their drive, while re-energizing Hogwarts' defence. Most attempted to flee the scene, though few made it very far, with Apparition blocked by the wards, the centaurs blocking their escape into the forest, and the thestrals blocking their escape into the air.

The battle was over in short order, but with the number of corpses littering the ground— outside on the grounds, in the Great Hall, and elsewhere in the castle— there was little cause for celebration when it finally ended. Certainly, Harry had no interest in celebrating as he tallied the list of the dead he knew of in his head: Fred, Susan Bones, Remus, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, George, Charlie, Arthur, Flitwick, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, Lee Jordan, Aberforth, Ginny, Neville…

Perhaps others felt differently, for Harry soon found himself surrounded by survivors attempting to crowd him in a show of gratitude.

The first to reach him was Luna, wrapping her arms around him in a mix of relief and shared grief. Then came Molly, and Bill, and Percy, all that remained of the Weasleys, followed by Kingsley and McGonagall and Sprout, and dozens if not hundreds of complete strangers, who all wanted a piece of the Boy-Who-Lived…

Nobody asked what he wanted—if they had, he would have requested peace, quiet, and some privacy to grieve. It wasn't until hours later—the sun had long since risen—that Luna sat down beside him and—in a gesture he would be eternally grateful for—offered to distract the crowd with talk of Blibbering Humdingers.

While everyone turned to where she was pointing, Harry slipped out of the Hall, and then out of the castle as quickly and as stealthily as he could without his cloak. First order of business was to find his cloak; he had a feeling that it would be indispensable in the coming days if he hoped to have any peace at all.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter marks the end to the parallels with canon (except for one tiny scene) so look forward to more changes from canon in coming chapters.

Thanks once again to my pre-betas **LiL-kristin-o7 **and **Telepwen**, as well as my beta, **Arnel**.I would also like to take a moment to thank **Kything to Write**, **god of all**, and **wizmage** once more for their reviews for chapter 2, as well as the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts. PS: don't forget to sign your reviews so that I can respond…


	4. Chapter 4

As Harry walked briskly across the grounds, he recalled his last trek towards the forest—the one he had thought would be his last. This time there was no spellfire to duck, no Death Eaters to avoid. The fighting had ended, and all that remained were the bodies, and the crews sorting and clearing them from the lawn—separating the critically injured but alive from the dead, and providing the former with swift medical care, unlikely though they were to survive the day.

He hesitated briefly at the boundary of the forest, but the Dementors had scattered after the battle, and he met no resistance. The trail was fairly easy to follow as Harry headed back towards the clearing where his two best friends had met their end. Though he'd had his eyes closed during most of the journey to the forest's edge, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had left a clear path of destruction in their wake.

Before long, he could make out the dying glow of the fire, which the Death Eaters had not bothered to extinguish, peaking through the trees. Miraculously, their oversight didn't seem to have started a forest fire—or perhaps there were simply spells in place to prevent such things.

Harry hastened his stride at the first glimpse of the fire, but fell to his knees in grief as he cleared the last of the trees. There, by the still-smouldering embers, lay the discarded bodies of his two best friends. Tears pooled in his eyes as he finally allowed the bottled emotions of the last few hours to catch up with him. They hadn't been moved from when he'd last laid eyes on them, but the sight of their bodies was profoundly more heart-wrenching now that he didn't have their spirits walking beside him, now that he was no longer on his way to his own execution, to join them…

Instead, he was alone and facing the prospect of a potentially long life… _alone_. The temptation to reach into his pocket for the Resurrection Stone was strong, but somehow he resisted. His friends were gone, and to try and summon them would be _wrong_, Master of the Deathly Hallows, or not.

His plans for starting over seemed grandiose and daunting now, as it began to sink in that he'd be going at it alone, without Ron or Hermione, who had stood by his side for seven years worth of "adventures". No, instead they had set off on the next great adventure—without him.

The thought of joining them may have crossed his mind briefly, but he knew in his heart that to take his own life was not the answer. He had fought too hard for it to simply give up and die; walking to his death had been hard enough, had taken all his courage. He would not—could not—turn his wand on himself.

Eventually, his tears spent, Harry managed to pull himself up to his hands and knees and crawl the final yards to Ron's body.

Kneeling at his friend's side, he brushed a hand against his cheek and took in the red-head's wide open eyes and look of defiance. Ron's skin was already cold, despite the nearby flames, and when Harry tried to brush his eyes closed, he was hindered by rigor mortis, hastened by proximity to the flames. It took a great deal of effort, both physical and mental, to shift the eye-lids, but he did manage. He stifled a sob as he brushed a hand through Ron's flaming hair.

Crawling over to Hermione next, he took a moment to close her eyes, before finally climbing to his feet and gingerly lifting her stiff and unyielding corpse from where she'd fallen. The crumpled position that she'd been left in made the body hard to balance, but he managed, not wanting to resort to magic just yet.

One painful step at a time, he carried her back to Ron, and gently lay her by his side—where she belonged—entwining their hands as best he could, before collapsing at their sides.

As Harry sat in silence on the cold ground and stared, crying by intervals, time lost all meaning. Alone in the forest, there was no one to see this moment of weakness, no one relying on him to be brave.

By the time he finally gathered the courage to move once more, the sun had begun to set.

His first move was to search for his Invisibility Cloak, but only when he failed to find it in his friends' pockets did he make the decision to resort to magic, for the first time since the battle had ended.

The decision to draw the Elder Wand, instead of the hawthorn one he had used till recently, was instinctive; he remembered how the Cloak had failed to respond to a conventionally cast Summoning Charm the previous evening—though perhaps that was more a question of who was summoning it and not a question of the wand being used.

"_Accio Invisibility Cloak!"_

The Cloak came soaring from behind an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the clearing. Whether Ron and Hermione had hidden it there before launching their attack, dropped it in the midst of their scuffle, or had it wrested from them in battle, was unclear, though the former seemed more likely.

Harry caught the cloak deftly in his left hand, and donned it in a single sweep. Strange how comforted wearing it made him feel in that moment...

He raised his wand once more, this time pointing it at Ron and Hermione, "_Mobilicorpus_."

As he corpses rose slowly, their hands remained clasped together and the bodies maintained their awkward and rigid postures, despite the vertical change in their positions.

For a moment they just hung there, floating a few feet above the ground. But then, at Harry's direction, they began to move forward, slowly at first, then more quickly, as he gained confidence in his ability to control the spell.

And thus began the second death procession through the Forest in less than a day—a far more sombre one than the first—one of mourning, not celebration. The biggest difference though—at least in Harry's mind—was that this time there was no doubt that the bodies in question were truly dead.

He halted at the edge of the forest, hesitating. Harry didn't want to draw more attention than necessary before he reached the Great Hall and could deliver his precious load to the Weasleys—what was left of the Weasleys... But which was less likely to draw attention? The floating corpses? Or himself? When put that way, the decision to keep the Cloak for himself was an easy one; the grounds were filled with the dead.

Fortunately, no one stopped him as he entered the Great Hall, though many stopped to stare as Ron and Hermione floated by, and most must have guessed at the power directing the corpses of two-thirds of the Golden Trio.

He found Mrs Weasley near the back of the Hall, hugging her two remaining sons tightly, while the rest of her family—minus one—lay in a neat row nearby.

Harry directed the bodies of his friends to an empty space beside the others, then, pulling off the cloak, he approached the woman he had long considered a surrogate mum.

When she opened her arms to embrace him, he gratefully accepted the offer of comfort. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Weasley, I couldn't save him," he whispered into her shoulder, as she held him.

Molly loosened her hold just enough to look Harry in the eyes, "Oh Harry!" Her eyes were moist with tears, "It's not your fault, child. You did your best—by all of us."

She hugged him tighter, "Thank you for bringing him back to me."

"It was the least I could do," Harry insisted, withdrawing from her embrace.

Then, before she could protest, he donned his cloak and walked away.

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**A/N:** My apologies for the delay with this chapter. November was dedicated to writing. On that note, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the NaNoWriMo group here in Montreal for their support all through November

Thanks once again to my pre-betas **LiL-kristin-o7 **and **Telepwen**, as well as my beta, **Arnel**.I would also like to take a moment to thank **Lightningblade49 **and** god of all **for their reviews of chapter 3, as well as the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry exited the Hall and, climbing over the bloodstained rubble, headed up the partially destroyed marble staircase to the first floor. Deep in thought, he continued upward and across the castle in silence, stepping absently over and around fallen rubble—and a few corpses.

Finally, he reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office on the seventh floor. The stone gargoyle that usually guarded the spiral staircase had been knocked on its side, but Harry paused briefly to ask permission before stepping over it and making his way up the stairs.

As he climbed, Harry continued to mentally rehearse his speech, but the loud and enthusiastic standing ovation that greeted him at the top startled him out of his thoughts. The jumble of applause and congratulations was impossible to decipher as every former Headmaster and Headmistress tried to have their say, mindless of one another.

It took a good five minutes before Harry could get a word in edgewise, and address the portrait that he'd come to see. He chose his words carefully, "After I died, we talked a bit, and you told me that I could maybe start over if I wanted to, called it creating an 'alternate universe'. It's why I decided to come back. But you didn't explain it very well. Do you think...?" The question remained unasked.

Dumbledore's portrait raised its eyebrow. "Oh? I did? And why ever would you want to do such a thing, Harry?"

There was a trace of anger in the younger wizard's voice as he answered, "Because my whole life has been about killing Voldemort, ever since Trelawney made that stupid prophecy. I've never had a real life. And now Voldemort's dead, but so is almost everyone I care about. There's nothing left for me here; I'd rather be dead than live like this. Maybe that makes me selfish, but after all I've been through, I think that I deserve better.

"If I could travel back in time, I could change things, stop the prophecy from ruling my life; maybe another version of me could have a better life. I could finish off Voldemort before so many people have to die; he would never have come back if the Horcruxes had been destroyed when I was still a child."

Dumbledore's portrait seemed to consider his words. Certainly, he hesitated for a long while before he finally answered. Unfortunately, his answer was not quite what Harry had been hoping for. Instead of answering the implied question he merely remarked, "The ritual to which I was probably referring is called the Ritual of Merlin's Choice, but it is not something to be undertaken lightly..."

Harry, for his part, was not that easily dissuaded. Rather than back down, he quoted back Dumbledore's words from their earlier conversation and assured the portrait that he possessed both strong convictions and virtuous intentions in spades.

"Very well, Harry, I will tell you what I know..." the former Headmaster relented, "The ritual requires an artefact, Merlin's Ring, which can only be accessed with unanimous consent of the International Confederation of Wizards…"

Suspecting he was in for a long lecture, Harry took advantage of a brief pause in Dumbledore's speech to conjure himself a comfy chair and plop down into it.

"Merlin's Ring was first discovered, in a cave system in Somerset by wizards local to the area, sometime in the late 9th century. At the time they were unable to determine its use, and knew only that magical analysis both proved it was magical in nature, and suggested that it predated the existence of wizard-kind. So they sealed the area off from Muggles, and no further thought was given to the artefact until a couple of centuries later.

"Only when a forty-year-old Merlin was found wandering naked in the King's private woods in Camelot, claiming to have used the Ring to travel back in time in order to prevent some great calamity, was any further thought given to the artefact. Merlin bore a striking resemblance to an eleven-year-old Slytherin by the name of Myrddin Wyllt—a fact that lay credence to his claim, though he never acknowledged the young wizard as being his former identity. The great calamity of which he'd spoken never came to pass as far as anyone could tell..."

When the former Headmaster started to expound on Merlin's work protecting Muggles, Harry started to huff and tap his left foot in annoyance. The history of the Ring was one thing, but Merlin's many accomplishments were common knowledge—even with Binns teaching History of Magic.

"I digress," Dumbledore admitted, but did not apologize, "After Merlin's claims were made known, the International Confederation of Wizards, then in its infancy, claimed jurisdiction over the artefact and set up protections to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. Many applied for permission to study it, and many made use of Merlin's notes on the subject, but there is no record of any other wizard ever getting the Ring to work. For most it simply remained inert, failed to react to any stimulus. However, those who have attempted the Ritual with nefarious intentions—or at least that has been the conclusion drawn from circumstantial evidence after the fact— have been engulfed by a burst of magical fire that spits forth from the Ring."

"Is it still there, then? In Somerset? Have you seen it?" Harry prompted, when the portrait paused in his narrative.

Dumbledore shook his head, "No, the Ring was moved to Antarctica, in the late nineteenth century, when the frequency of Muggle exploration of Somerset started to threaten its secrecy, and after Dark Lord Philip's attempt to use it resulted in several dozen collateral deaths. Strong Muggle repelling wards were placed on the section of Antarctica where it's located, a place the Muggles call Marie Byrd Land. As I understand it, the wards still hold today, and no Muggle nation has ever attempted to lay claim to Mary Byrd Land, though a few have explored parts of it. Certainly no Muggles have been able to breach the wards protecting the Ring.

"And to answer your last question, I've never laid eyes on it myself, though I admit I may have briefly considered applying for permission to use it, back when I first heard of its existence."

Harry tried to hide his disappointment, "So you have no proof that it actually exists or that it will do what you say?"

"No proof, no," confirmed Dumbledore, "The only records that exist regarding its use are Merlin's journals about it, but even they are vague. That's why I'm baffled at the fact that I would have suggested using it, Harry. I may not have always been fully honest and open with you over the years, but I can think of no reason to give you false hope, at this juncture in time. Unless..." He paused as though reflecting, but didn't elaborate.

"What?" Harry prompted.

"Perhaps the me you spoke to knew something that I don't—something that I didn't know before I died—that led him to believe the tale was worth mentioning..."

"So you think there might be a chance, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes, a chance," the portrait responded, delicately, "Though it certainly won't be easy."

Harry brightened, "And you'll help me?"

Dumbledore nodded, though he seemed reluctant to do so, repeating once more that Merlin's Choice wasn't a ritual to be undertaken lightly, and that the task that Harry planned to accomplish would not be an easy one. He went on to point out that even if Harry succeeded in convincing Merlin's Ring to grant him passage, he would still have to contend with reaching his destination naked and without a Knut to his name, as Merlin had on his arrival in Camelot. He wouldn't be able to take anything with him—not even his wand—for death's veil, through which he would pass it twice on his way to his destination, would strip him of all material goods.

"Although... perhaps...maybe... yes, almost definitely..." Dumbledore seemed to reconsider his previous statement, almost as soon as the words escaped his lips, but didn't explain.

"Maybe, what?" asked Harry, frustrated at how evasive and runabout Dumbledore had gone back to being in his explanations.

"The Hallows, if they truly are gifts from Death itself, might survive a trip through the veil between worlds. And since they seem to consider you their true Master for uniting them, they'll probably agree to follow you if you invite them along. Of course I offer no guarantees. But..."

"Your guesses have usually been good," completed Harry "How exactly do I 'invite' them along?"

"Just projecting your desire should suffice. Much like wands, when magical artefacts bond with a wizard or witch, they do not always need a clear command to react to his or her will. Perhaps you have already noticed as much about your cloak since it has been in your possession.

Harry thought back to the moment in Hogsmeade when the Cloak had kept him hidden, despite a Death Eater attempting to summon it from him. Perhaps it _had _been responding to his will, for it had responded perfectly well to his own attempt to summon it, mere hours later.

"So I should plan on bringing the Hallows with me, but have a contingency plan that does not rely on them, just in case?"

"Exactly, my boy, exactly," the older wizard responded. "Now I suggest that you start by reading Merlin's journals. Check my personal library; should be on the second bookcase to the left of the stairwell, third shelf from the bottom—unless Severus completely reorganized my reading material."

Harry crossed over to the bookshelf and found two aged leather volumes, exactly where the Headmaster had indicated. He held them up to the portrait for inspection, "These?"

"Yes, indeed. They might help you with formulating your plan, before you draft your letter to the International Confederation of Wizards. Oh, and you should probably research the time you're planning to travel to, current events, dates of attacks, dates of arrests... I suspect the Carrows may have destroyed any useful Daily Prophet articles in the library during their censorship sweep, but the originals are probably still on record at the Prophet's main offices— much harder to destroy, and not worth Voldemort's effort...

"Don't hesitate to return if you have any questions. I'm sure Minerva won't mind."

Harry turned back towards the stairwell, journals in hand. When he reached the stairs, he glanced back a final time and gave Dumbledore a half-smile, "Thanks, Headmaster, I will."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks once again to my pre-betas **LiL-kristin-o7 **and **Telepwen**, as well as my beta, **Arnel**. I would also like to take a moment to thank **god of all** and **Penny is wise** for their reviews for chapter 4, as well as the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts (though I'd very much like that you review as well; reviews are much better motivators).


	6. Chapter 6

**Dedication:** I would like to dedicate this chapter to my Grandpop (1916-2008), my Dad (1953-2011), and my Nonna (1932-2012) who were very much in my thoughts as I wrote and edited it.

* * *

Much as Harry would have liked to get started on planning his departure, circumstances conspired against him.

He could not draft a letter to the International Confederation of Wizards because all such letters had to go through the British Ministry of Magic, which had quite literally shut down all but essential services, given the reason behind the previous government's collapse, the current political climate, and the need for major restructuring…

He couldn't even do any major research into the current events of 1981, because someone—Merlin knew who or why— had burned the Daily Prophet's offices to the ground around the time of the final battle, destroying all the records within. He could always try the archives of Muggle newspapers, but Harry was hoping not to have to resort to trying to glean useful information from Muggle accounts of Wizarding events. First, he preferred try a few news offices across the channel; but, that would have to wait until the Ministry reopened international borders.

And then there were all the funerals—hundreds of them…

Harry couldn't attend them all—nor did he want to. But, even counting only those he knew well enough to want to pay his respects, there were several dozen funerals to attend. And the number would have been larger still were it not for the multitude of group burials amongst them.

So, in the end, Harry decided to put off planning his departure until the funerals were over. After all, he couldn't very well skip the Weasley Family funeral, much as he was dreading it, dreading saying a final goodbye to his two best friends and two thirds of his surrogate family.

Harry especially hadn't wanted to stand in the receiving line, and shake hundreds of hands. He worried that people would get hung up on meeting the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Destroyed-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and forget who they were there to mourn, but Mrs Weasley had insisted. Therefore, he stood at Percy's side in the grim and disorderly garden at the Burrow which, only a few months before, had been neatly pruned and beautifully decorated for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and shook hands with guests.

He tried not to, but each time that there was a lull in the stream of guests, Harry found himself staring at the long line of wooden coffins before him: first Mr Weasley, then each of his deceased sons in order of birth, then Hermione—who Mrs Weasley had generously offered to bury in the Weasley family crypt—and Ginny.

Though Mrs Weasley and many of the guests had commented on how good they looked, how peaceful, and seemed comforted by the sight, Harry couldn't help disagreeing. He tried to see what they did, but the bodies on display in the coffins just made him uneasy.

As heart-wrenching and painful as it had been to look upon the fresh bodies of his friends in the aftermath of the final battle, at least those had been real. Not this—not these magically reconstructed and preserved showpieces, healed of all injury, stuffed, and plastered in make-up.

It was almost a relief when, after a week of standing at attention, the last guest had said their condolences and Harry could join the group of fourteen pallbearers, two per coffin, that would levitate the dead to Ottery St. Catchpole's tiny church for the service. As they walked in solemn silence, under cover of Muggle Repelling Charms, Harry spared a passing thought to wonder where they would have found forty-two pallbearers to carry the caskets, had they needed to do it the Muggle way.

But the thought was fleeting. Mostly, he dwelled on what was to come. He had already made up his mind not to say a eulogy: not only did he not feel the strength to do so, but he didn't want the Weasley's moment of sorrow to be overshadowed by a speech by Boy-Who-Lived-And-Destroyed-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But his resolve lasted no more than five minutes from the time the service got underway. The empty words spewing forth from the mouth of the Ministry official that Molly had found to officiate filled him with silent rage—empty meaningless words uttered by someone who had never even known the Weasleys, for whom this was just one of a dozen funerals scheduled that day alone.

By the time the official stopped spewing pleasantries and asked if anyone wanted to make a speech, Harry's anger had spilled over and transformed into resolve. He found himself getting to his feet, and walking to the front of the room. He was shaking as he turned to face the crowd but somehow he found the strength to clear his voice and begin, "I've never been one for fancy speeches, but the Weasleys deserve to be remembered by someone who knew them…"

Once he started speaking the words just started to flow, as if rehearsed, "I first met the Weasleys on September 1st, 1991…"

As he began with a tribute to his first friend his own age, Harry found himself unable to hold back his tears. Still, he managed to share Ron's last words to him,_ "__I'm proud to have gone down for destroying a piece of that bastard,_" without his voice breaking.

He even managed a half-smile as he reminisced, "Of course, no discussion about Ron would be complete without mention of Hermione. Those two squabbled like an old married couple from nearly the first time they met," but his voice finally cracked as he reflected that they hadn't lived long enough to actually become a married couple.

The room was silent except for intermittent sobbing as Harry struggled to regain his composure, before continuing with his eulogy, "To those of you who knew her well, Hermione was so much more than a just a know-it-all bookworm—though yes, she did have the answer to most of our questions, and some we didn't ask. She was a loyal friend, sticking with us even when she objected to our foolish schemes, and she was a braver woman than most give her credit for. I will never forget the sight of her climbing to her knees after a minute of Voldemort's Cruciatus and still refusing to give me up to him..."

Harry took a moment to pull himself out of the memory, before starting again, "Ginny Weasley was a force to be reckoned with. She had a temper to match her mum's—sorry Mrs Weasley, but it's true— and was stubborn to boot. I guess she would have to be, growing up in a house with six brothers."

Tears flowed freely as he spoke of their break-up, but he managed to soldier on without another breakdown, "I still love her, I think I always will. She understood me in a way that no one else ever has, and don't think I can ever fill the hole she's left in my heart."

Harry even managed a few more bittersweet smiles, as his recounted some of Fred and George's more memorable antics, and commented, "It's a small comfort to those us left behind to mourn them both, but at least neither has to mourn the other."

Harry paused before continuing, "Arthur Weasley was a good man, with a good heart, and though he had no shortage of children, he treated me like his own son." He shared a few anecdotes, as well, but they were mostly lost on the crowd which was, for the most part, as clueless about Muggle gadgets as Arthur had been…

Harry struggled to find something to say about Charlie, who he had barely known, but he did his best, calling up things Ron and Ginny had shared about their older brother, and sharing the story from his first year at Hogwarts when Charlie had convinced some of his friends to help them smuggle Hagrid's dragon out of Hogwarts.

And then it was over. Harry stumbled back to his seat and sat through the rest of the service in a haze. There were a few more speeches, but his mind did not register most of what was said, as he continued to struggle with his overwhelming grief.

Finally, he managed to stifle his tears before the end of the ceremony. He did not cry again, not during the long walk to the crypt, not as the bodies were finally laid to rest, not as he supported a sobbing Molly Weasley out of the crypt and back to the Burrow, not as he retreated to Grimmauld Place, empty except for Kreacher...

He was out of tears.

* * *

**A/N:** I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the delay getting this chapter out, and to thank you all for your patience. Also thanks once again to my beta **Arnel** for her imput on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank **Penny is wise**, **mcwebe0, god of all**, **Kine X**, and **Geminorum **for their reviews for chapter 5, as well as thank the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts.

**Review reply for ****Geminorum: **Thank you for your wonderful review, I would have replied directly but you have PMs disabled. Your feedback and suggestions are much appreciated, and I have been taken into account in coming chapters.

**Pre-beta search: **I currently find myself in need of a new pre-beta to bounce the occasional content detail off of and to offer timely feedback with regards to style issues (eg flow, the balance of passive voice vs active voice, lacking detail, superfluous passages, comma over-use...). Interested individuals may contact me by PM.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry only caught the last day of Remus and Tonks' funeral, instead of the week-long wake, but even sitting through the short service was enough to start his tears flowing anew. Although he hadn't been particularly close to Remus, the older wizard had been his last link to his parents and the pain of saying goodbye to him and Tonks strengthened his resolve to go through with his plans.

That same resolve to go almost crumbled momentarily at the sight of little baby Teddy, whose godfather he had promised to be, but he quickly pushed his doubts aside; their situations were not the same.

Harry refused to feel guilty about 'abandoning' Teddy. While the boy might very well appreciate having a godfather, he didn't _need_ one, not the way that Harry had needed Sirius. He had a grandmother who loved him dearly, who would raise him well and share with him fond memories of his parents.

That's not to say that Harry didn't shed a few more tears as he paid his respects to Andromeda and gently kissed his godson's forehead, for what was probably the last time. He did, however, manage to walk away unburdened by guilt.

The rest of the funerals were somewhat easier and, after the first few, they all seemed to blend together in Harry's mind. There were so many that he sometimes found himself attending as many as three in one day. First there was Hagrid—who they buried by his hut on the Hogwarts grounds, with his half-brother towering over the attendees and shaking the ground with each fit of tears—Susan Bones, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, Lee Jordan, Aberforth Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Professor Flitwick, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Angelina Johnson, Zacharias Smith, Oliver Wood…

Finally, just over two weeks after the final battle, Harry stood up to leave the last funeral on his list, that of Xenophilius Lovegood, which he'd decided to attend more out of moral support for Luna than out of any respect for the deceased. Originally he'd only intended to stay for the service, but Luna had looked so sad and lonely that he found himself sticking around for the burial, as well.

Most of the small crowd at the grave-site had dispersed when he finally approached Luna to give his condolences.

Her face brightened considerably when she caught sight of him, "Thank you for coming, Harry. I hope you haven't been infected by _mermeragasts, they like to hang out at funerals—and I've seen you at a lot of funerals…"_

Harry stifled a dry laugh, "You're welcome, Luna. I think I managed to steer clear of the mermagasts."

"_Mermeragasts, Harry, and that's good, because they're really tricky to get rid of. They tend to stick around for a while and they make people really sad— you look sad," she remarked, candidly._

"I'm okay, Luna, really," Harry insisted, but made no mention to how sad _she_ looked.

"No, you're not," she countered, "but you will be. What are you going to do now, Harry?"

The lie that he'd been telling everybody else who had asked was at the tip of his tongue, but something in Luna's earnest expression and silvery eyes stopped him from uttering the words. So instead of telling her that he didn't know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life yet, and was planning to travel, in an attempt to escape his grief, he found himself telling her the truth about his plans.

He shouldn't have worried though; far from try to discourage him, Luna asked to come along. She reminded him so much of a lonely child hoping to be included in a playground game, that Harry found himself unable to refuse her.

A smile broke on her face, "Oh thank you, Harry. I couldn't possibly stay here all alone, now that everyone else is gone, even Daddy."

Harry shuffled his feet, uncomfortable at the mention of Xenophilius Lovegood, but said, "I'm really sorry about your dad, Luna."

"Yes, it is rather sad, but now he's with Mum again, so I really mustn't be sad…" she answered, her tone conversational. Her voice cracked unexpectedly, "but I _am_ sad."

Faced with the unlikely, and awkward, situation of having to comfort Luna Lovegood—whom Harry generally considered to be unflappable—the young wizard found himself at a loss for words.

An awkward silence settled in.

However, just as Harry was about to attempt some words of comfort, Luna's spoke again, "Do you think I might have been infected by _mermeragasts? I haven't been to nearly as many funerals as you…"_

"It's okay to be sad, Luna," Harry offered, patting her back clumsily as he drew her into a hug, "you just buried your dad."

Luna giggled, the moment of melancholy as fleeting as though it had never been, "We didn't bury Daddy, Harry."

Harry pulled away, startled. "We buried an empty shell," she continued, "Daddy's with Mum, on the other side of the Veil."

Harry sighed, and muttered, "I stand corrected…" then attempted to extract himself from her grasp, "I should probably head home, Kreacher will worry. You'll call when you're ready to come along?"

Luna shook her head, "No time like the present—Daddy always said."

Harry stared at her for a moment, before recovering his power of speech, "But, but…don't you have things to do first?"

"Oh certainly, before we leave. But that can wait—being alone is the worst treatment for a _mermeragast infection, and I'm starting to think that I might really be infected."_

Harry caught the words that she didn't say: that she was sad and didn't want to be alone right now, that somewhere behind the thick outer shell which she shared with the rest of the world, Luna Lovegood was just as vulnerable as everyone else…

"Okay then, if you're sure," he answered. "I'll have to Apparate us both though; the house is still under Fidelius. Hold on tight."

He didn't even bother objecting when she chose to grab hold of his ear, instead of something more typical; it wasn't worth the effort.

"Ready?" he asked, without waiting for the response, as he concentrated on their destination.

A moment later, they landed on the top step of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He paused, before reaching for the door, "Well, this is it; please ignore the house-elf heads—I still haven't convinced Kreacher to take them down. And try to be quiet in the hall, or you'll wake Mrs Black," Harry warned as he opened the door and was greeted by the usual low whisper of "_Severus Snape_"

"I didn't kill you," he whispered back, then held his breath as the dusty jinx-figure exploded.

"Was that Professor Moody?" asked Luna, apparently unfazed by the dusty apparition.

"Yeah," answered Harry, in a whisper, "I really need to do something about that jinx. It's starting to get annoying. Hurry, follow me before we wake up Mrs Black."

"Who's Mrs Black?" she asked—a little too loudly.

"_Mudbloods! Filth! Scum! Half-breeds!_"

"Drat! Too late!" Harry cursed while trying to pull the curtains, which framed the portrait, shut.

"She is quite unpleasant," commented Luna, as she walked up to the portrait, "Do think she might suffer from _fanumalia?"_

"Bloodtraitors and halfbloods! Defiling the home of my fathers! Be gone! Be gone filth!"

_"Doubt it," answered Harry, "she's just a bitter old woman, and a pure-blood supremacist, who refuses to accept that the world has changed, and that this is __no longer her house__!" _

"Mudbloods! Taint of shame on the house of my fathers! Be gone from this place!"

"Shut up!" Harry addressed the painting—which was still screaming obscenities at the top of its two-dimensional lungs—and with a stupendous effort he managed to force the curtains shut.

He turned back to Luna, and whispered, "Come on, this way, before she wakes up again… Kreacher probably already has supper ready…" He led her down the stairs, towards the kitchen, and away from the portrait.

Kreacher stood at the far corner of the kitchen stirring a deep pot of stew, as they walked in, "Kreacher apologizes, Master Harry, supper is almost ready, " reported the house-elf without looking up.

"That's okay, Kreacher," reassured Harry as he pulled up a chair at the table, and bid Luna to sit, "We can wait."

Kreacher looked up, startled, "Master Harry has brought home a guest! Kreacher was not expecting a guest!"

He hurried over to greet them—Regulus' locket bouncing against his chest as he rushed about, "Welcome, Miss, please allow Kreacher to take Miss' cloak. Kreacher will put on more stew for Master's guest."

"Kreacher," Harry interrupted, "This is Luna Lovegood; she'll be spending the night. Luna, this is my house-elf, Kreacher."

Luna stood and curtsied. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Kreacher," she greeted.

"Has Miss Luna left her luggage in the Hall, Master Harry? Kreacher will bring it up to Master's room for her."

Harry shook his head, "No, no luggage, Kreacher, but thanks."

"Then Kreacher shall lay out some of Mistress' old nightclothes on Master's bed for her," offered the elf.

Harry blushed, realising what Kreacher was suggesting, "Thank you, Kreacher, but Luna won't be sleeping with me. Could you prepare another room for her, please?"

The house-elf bowed deeply, "Yes, Master Harry, Kreacher will do that— Kreacher will tidy up the Mudblood's room for Miss Luna," before scuttling off to tend to his stew.

Harry swallowed the fresh grief that rose at the mention of Hermione, before responding to the slip.

"Kreacher?" he called after the elf trying very hard to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice.

"Yes, Master Harry?" responded the house-elf distractedly.

"What did I tell you about the word, Mudblood?" Harry prompted.

Kreacher flinched as he turned to look at his master, "That it is offensive and, Kreacher is not to use it, Master Harry."

"Then why do you keep using it?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher forgets, Master Harry."

Harry sighed, "Please, try to remember, Kreacher."

"Yes, Master Harry," the house-elf promised, and turned back to his cooking.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks once again to my beta **Arnel** for her input on this chapter. I would also like to thank **LiL-kristin-o7** who pointed out that grabbing Harry's manhood instead of his arm was a little weird even for Luna and **blind-bella** who sat with me in a coffee-shop on Saturday and listened to me read through the second to last draft of this chapter.

I would also like to take a moment to thank **Man of Constant Sorrow**, **kingstonavery**, **god of all**, **Penny is wise**, **Newengland1323**, **Tommy14**, **gaul1**, **FF-loverHP1**, **Mionefan**, and **Dr Stranger **for their reviews of chapter 6, as well as thank the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts.

**Pre-beta search: **I'm still looking for a new pre-beta to bounce the occasional content detail off of and to offer timely feedback with regards to style issues (eg flow, the balance of passive voice vs active voice, lacking detail, superfluous passages, comma over-use...). Interested individuals may contact me by PM.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry looked up from his writing when Luna wandered into his room at Grimmauld Place the morning after Xenophilius Lovegood's funeral, still wearing Mrs Black's old-fashioned nightclothes. Her slim figure looked lost in the voluminous gown, which seemed to be at least two sizes too big.

"Good Morning, Luna," he greeted, "I guess you didn't get much more sleep than I did?"

Her cheeks were stained with tears, she had dark circles under her eyes, and her usual smile was noticeably absent.

Luna didn't respond to his greeting. Instead, she walked over to the desk—where he'd been sitting for several sleepless hours—and read over his shoulder in complete silence, for a solid minute.

Finally, she stepped back and flopped onto his bed. "Why are you writing a letter to the International Confederation of Wizards, Harry? They're all infected with vanusgenes—it makes them egotistical and close-minded."

Harry ignored her comment about vanusgenes, quite sure that he didn't want to know, "I need to ask them for permission to use Merlin's Ring," he explained.

"Why do you need their permission?"

"Because, they're the ones guarding it."

"But you're Harry Potter."

Harry sighed in exasperation at the reminder, and the implication that his name should open doors. "What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded, his frustration leaking through.

Luna didn't seem to notice, "You can break into anywhere."

Harry sighed again, "No, I can't." He didn't bother asking how she'd come to such a conclusion.

"You broke into Gringotts," she responded, raising a finger on her right hand, as if counting.

"That was a one-time thing; I almost died doing so, _and_ we had inside help."

"You broke us into the Department of Mysteries," she added another finger.

"Only because Voldemort wanted me there, and had already had his Death Eaters disable all the defences."

"You broke into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny," she raised a third finger.

"Only because I could speak Parseltongue, which I can't anymore."

"You broke into that hidden chamber in your first year," she lifted a fourth finger.

"I'm starting to think that Dumbledore planned that whole thing."

"You broke into the Ministry of Magic offices, despite all of Voldemort and his Death Eater's defences" she concluded, raising the last finger on her right hand.

"I almost didn't get out of that one alive either," Harry insisted, "and that involved plenty of Polyjuice—"

"We can make some," she interrupted.

"—and almost a month of planning," he continued.

"We've got time," she countered, "lots of it."

"Please, Luna." Harry lost his patience. "Even _if_—and that's a big _if_—I could break into a high-security, top-secret ICW base, it would still be a lot simpler, just to ask for permission.

Luna giggled, "But not nearly as much fun…"

Harry saw red and almost lost his temper, then and there. Somehow, he managed to keep his tone mostly level, "I'd like to keep the life-threatening _fun_ to a minimum, if possible, thank you."

"Then why do you want to start the war over?" Luna didn't appear to notice how upset Harry was becoming.

He did lose his temper then, "You think I'm doing all this for _fun_? I'm doing it to save lives! For a better future! If you're just in it for the _fun_, you can forget about coming along!"

Luna blanched at his outburst, but only for a moment. "No journey is worth embarking on, no matter how wonderful the destination, if you don't at least try to have fun along the way," she replied, her voice as serene as ever.

Harry deflated, most of his anger diffused, "I'd still rather just ask for permission."

"Suit yourself," Luna replied her tone and expression indicating that she still disagreed, "Will we still go if we don't have permission?"

"I don't know. We'll see…"

"You never did say; where exactly are we 'maybe' going?"

"Marie Byrd Land, Antarctica."

Luna squealed, "We're going to Antarctica!? I've always wanted to go to Antarctica!"

Harry suppressed a groan, "Only if the International Confederation of Wizards gives us permission."

"But you just said that we'd go, even if they didn't give us permission."

"No, I said 'we'll see,'" he corrected.

"Same thing," grinned Luna, undeterred, "Do you think we'll see any Belgica, while we're in Antarctica?"

"What are Belgica?" Harry regretted the question almost as soon as he'd uttered it, but it was too late to take the words back.

"Belgica are tiny deep purplish black flies with no wings. They make people restless, and irritable, and irrational. And if you have a really bad infestation they make you paranoid about everything and everyone else that's around you."

'Flies without wings, honestly,' Harry thought to himself, but rather than try to contradict her, he responded, "Sounds like something to avoid."

"Oh definitely," agreed Luna, "We had an article once in the Quibbler about a wizard that wandered off into a blizzard and died, after he found a cluster of them."

The silence in the room was heavy. Luna made no move to leave, nor did she ask any more questions or say more about the mysterious Belgica.

Harry broke the silence. "I really need to get back to my letter, Luna."

Luna didn't move; she just continued to stare at him while sitting cross-legged on his bed.

At first, Harry just stared back. Then, when it became obvious that she wasn't planning on leaving, he turned back to his letter.

Even with his back turned to her, he could feel the weight of her eyes fixed upon him. He couldn't concentrate. Try as he might, he found himself unable to make any significant progress.

Finally, after about five minutes, he gave up and turned back around and said, as politely as possible, "I'm sorry Luna, but I can't write with you watching me like that."

Harry thought he saw a brief flash of disappointment cross her face, but before he could mention it, it was gone, replaced by her usual dreamy look, "I'll go keep Kreacher company then. He seemed very lonely last night."

Harry nodded, turning back to his writing, once more.

Three hours—and twenty drafts—later, he put the finishing touches on the letter. Though it probably didn't come out sounding as intelligent as it would have if Hermione had helped him to write it, he was pretty sure he made his point clear. And, unless Luna had a sudden change of heart, and offered to help him, it was as good as it was going to get.

When Harry headed down to the ground floor, he found Luna sitting on the drawing room floor. She was listening attentively to Kreacher, who was dusting the furniture while talking animatedly about Sirius' ancestor Cygnus Black.

"I'm going out for a while," Harry addressed them both. "I need to deliver this letter to the Ministry, and run a few errands."

He was half expecting Luna to object to being left behind—and a tiny part of him was hoping she'd offer to read the letter over. Instead, he hardly received an acknowledgement—just a nod from her before she prompted Kreacher to continue his story, "What did Walburga do when she found out?"

Harry sighed, disappointed, but decided that she was probably just annoyed with him because of his earlier rebuff.

Luna was still in the exact same position, when he returned an hour later. Kreacher had moved over to the drapes and was now talking about Lucretia Black.

Kreacher spotted him first, "Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry. Kreacher just cleaned the floor."

"Sorry, Kreacher," Harry responded, chagrined, before returning to the entrance hall to leave his shoes by the door.

Luna followed him out, "What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, "You look grumpy."

Harry sighed, "Not here," he whispered, directing her up the stairs.

He waited until they were safely out of earshot for Mrs Black before responding, "I tried to apply for an international Portkey, while I was at the Ministry delivering my letter, but the Ministry still hasn't reopened international borders. When they said no, straight after the final battle, I could understand. But the war's been over nearly three weeks…"

Luna tilted her head in contemplation, "Why do you need to cross the channel now, Harry? I thought you were waiting for permission from the ICW."

"I need to check newspaper archives to research the happenings of 1981," he explained, "The Carrows were pretty thorough in their destruction of anything even remotely useful at Hogwarts, and with the destruction of the Daily Prophet…"

Luna giggled, "You don't need to cross the channel for that, Harry. Daddy has archives going back years and years. They were in the cellar, so most of them survived, even when the Death Eaters blew up our house our house."

Harry shook his head, trying to search for a delicate way to tell her that The Quibbler wasn't quite the newspaper he was looking for—without disparaging it. Finally he settled on, "I need something with a little more detail about daily events, than the Quibbler, Luna, but thanks."

"Oh, we have the plenty of Daily Prophets too—even though Daddy always said The Daily Prophet wasn't worth the parchment it was printed on—and Witch Weekly, and Wizarding Geographic, and Magical Wildlife… We even had a whole pile of PlayWizards—though Daddy hid those under his mattress, so they _might_ have been destroyed. Daddy liked to keep a record of all his competition."

Harry grinned, "Really? Would you mind if I had a look at them?"

"Not at all," she answered. Harry's grin widened briefly, but faded somewhat when she continued, "_After_ you fill me in on your plan. You were a little skimpy on the details yesterday."

Harry sighed, "This might take a while. Let's go back to my room and sit down."

Harry hesitated before launching into his explanation. Luna was right. He hadn't told her much the night before. Then again, aside from the Weasley eulogy, he hadn't said much of anything to anyone since the war ended. Every time he tried, it just seemed to tear open painful wounds. So, instead, he'd spent most of his time wallowing around Grimmauld Place, and working on his letter to the ICW—when he wasn't busy traipsing around Wizarding Great Britain from one funeral to another.

Explaining things properly to Luna meant willingly opening up those same wounds he'd been trying to ignore these past weeks. It also meant opening himself up to be ridiculed, if she thought his plans impossible or a waste of time and effort. She hadn't laughed at him the night before but…

And so he found himself explaining everything to Luna. He started with the prophecy and its implications, none of which seemed to surprise her. Only when he moved on to explain about Voldemort's Horcruxes did he elicit a gasp of surprise, which she followed up with a couple of strange questions.

Her eyes glistened with barely contained tears when he told her about having reunited the three Deathly Hallows, which her father had spent so much of his life seeking. They widened as he told her all he knew about Merlin's Ring, and shared Dumbledore's theory that he might be able to bring the Hallows with him.

She listened quietly, trying to grasp the immense scale of his quest as he then explained what he was planning: preventing the death of his parents on Halloween 1981, destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes before he had a chance to rise again, thwarting Death Eater attacks…

"So you see why I need the information about 1981?" he asked, when he'd finished his explanations.

Luna nodded slowly but said nothing, at first, as she continued to process all the information that Harry had shared. Finally she seemed to make up her mind.

"Yes, yes, definitely," she nodded more vigorously as she added "We can go to Daddy's office, to pick up the newspapers, now if you'd like. This is going to be _fun_…"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed.

"And while you do that, I can pack everything I'm going to need to move in with you," she added, "By the sound of things you're _really_ going to need my help."

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my new pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, who is almost as hard on me as I am on myself. Also, thanks once again to my beta **Arnel** for her input on this chapter, particularly for pointing out important detail I'd forgotten. Lastly, I would like to take a moment to thank **Hippothestrowl**, **thunder18**, **Penny is wise**, **Dr Stranger, ****Tommy14**, **gaul1**, and **kingstonavery **for their reviews of chapter 7, as well as thank the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts.


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't believe it!" Harry Potter muttered under his breath, his scowl only hinting at his annoyance.

He and Luna were well into their second week of sorting through old newspapers and had had to banish Kreacher from the library, shortly after setting up shop there. Left unchecked, the poor elf simply couldn't resist tidying up—every single time he entered the room. Unfortunately, though there was a certain order to the jumble of newspapers and newspaper clippings that filled all corners of the room, it was one that only they could understand, and the elf's well-meaning efforts kept setting them back.

Thus, when Kreacher popped in on them one morning, about two weeks after being ordered to stay out, they were understandably startled, and more than a little annoyed.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to reprimand the elderly elf, he noticed the official-looking letter—stamped with the letters 'ICW'. Reprimand forgotten, he eagerly snatched the envelope from Kreacher's outstretched hand, instead, smiling wildly as he thanked him.

"What is it?" asked Luna, as the house-elf popped out of the room, curious as to what might have gotten Harry into such a state of excitement.

"A reply from the International Confederation of Wizards; do you think they said yes?" he said, as he broke open the seal.

"No," Luna's response was blunt.

Harry looked up, startled, "Pardon?"

"I think they said no," she repeated.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment, "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"When did you become such an optimist?"

Harry sighed, but decided that there was no point in arguing about it. "Never mind, only one way to find out…"

Within seconds of pulling out the letter, and beginning to read, his smile had disappeared, replaced by a frown that grew deeper with each passing minute, before transforming into a snarl of rage by the time he reached the end of the letter.

Luna watched in silence; though she'd strongly suspected that Harry wouldn't be happy with the letter's contents—she'd tried to warn him—it still hurt to see him so disappointed, so angry. Finally, when it looked like he he'd finished, she asked gently, "Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry took a few deep calming breaths, before responding, "Here, read for yourself," and handing her the letter.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received your request to study and attempt to use Merlin's Ring. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we will not be granting your request. _

_The problem which you propose to address by travelling through the Ring has, in fact, already been resolved. While the death toll in both Wizarding and Muggle Great Britain is certainly regrettable, it does not justify meddling in matters that have already been settled, particularly given the complexity of situation you describe. It is our belief that the risks involved in attempting to change the outcome of your conflict with the wizard styling himself Lord Voldemort, far outweigh any potential benefits. _

_It also bears mentioning that given the state in which the Wizarding community of Great Britain currently finds itself, and given your status as a war hero and as a public figure, your nation and its people currently require your services. Thus, we cannot in good conscience assist you in your attempt to abandon them._

_We would, however, like to take this opportunity to extend you an invitation to fill the currently vacant Confederation seat, previously occupied by your mentor, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore._

_Sincerely,_

**_Carlotta Pinkstone_**

_Supreme Mugwump_

Harry gave Luna enough time to finish reading the letter before speaking, "If those stuffed up politicians think I'd even consider joining them after that disgusting excuse for a rejection letter, they have another think coming for them… You still feeling up to breaking into the high-security, top-secret ICW Antarctica Base, Luna?"

Luna nodded, smiling brightly, with barely contained excitement, "Of course, Harry! I'm definitely up for it!"

Harry gave her a wry smile, "Thanks for not saying, 'I told you so'."

"I told you so," she teased.

Harry's brief scowl at her pronouncement, faded when he noted the twinkle in her eyes. He quickly changed the subject, "So, any ideas how we can get all the way to Antarctica, without the International Confederation of Wizards catching on?"

"We'll go with the Muggles," Luna responded, as though stating the obvious, "they have all kinds of expeditions during the Antarctic summer…"

"And how exactly are we supposed to convince them to take us along—without resorting to Imperious?" Harry asked. "Those expeditions are for Muggle scientists."

"We could always pretend to be Muggle scientists—" Luna suggested.

Harry cut her off, "We would never be able to keep up the charade long enough for it to be of any use." Clearly, like most purebloods, Luna's understanding of the complexity of Muggle science was somewhat lacking…

"So then we'll just have to apply for positions as GAs," Luna responded, with a touch of finality, as though that was what she'd had in mind all along.

"And what are GAs?" asked Harry hesitantly, unsure whether he should really be encouraging this particular line of discussion, given her tendency to believe in things that didn't exist.

"Operations general assistants, they do all the menial tasks for the Muggle scientists—most of the bases have at least a couple, some as many as ten," she clarified.

"How exactly do you know this?" Harry asked, still suspicious.

"I looked it up after you told me we were going to Antarctica. Daddy kept reference material on all sorts of places. I used to plan all kinds of adventures in my head, when I was little. There was even this amazing article on Crumple-Horned Seals—they're distant relative of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, except they prefer colder climates and they hunt under the ice. Do you think we'll see any while we're in Antarctica?

"I really don't think we'll have time to hunt down Crumple-Horned Seals, Luna," Harry pointed out.

"That's okay," she responded, "It'll still be an adventure."

Harry didn't bother objecting to her use of the word 'adventure.' "As long as we're clear on our goals… We're going to Antarctica to find and use Merlin's Ring, _not_ to chase after Crumple-Horned Seals, or any other creatures…"

Luna nodded sagely, "No zoological expeditions, I promise."

Harry let the subject drop. "So, do you know about any Muggle expeditions in Marie Byrd Land? That's where Merlin's Ring is supposed to be hidden…" he asked.

Luna frowned. "Not specifically—" Her expression lightened "—but there are a few every year – Daddy says so! I'm sure we can find out somehow. Of course, Marie Byrd Land covers hundreds of millions of acres, so we're really going to need a way to narrow our search…"

Harry sighed, "What we need is a magic detector…Unless…wait… Muggles have all kinds of pictures of the Earth from space. I'm willing to bet big magical hotspots show up on some of those images, and they just haven't been able to figure out what it all means because of all the Muggle-repelling wards preventing them from exploring."

Luna looked pensive, "Can you read these Muggle pictures, Harry?"

"No, but maybe I don't have to," he responded, "We can probably get the Muggles to tell us themselves. We can pretend to be journalists, and tell a Muggle scientist that we're doing a report on the exploration of Marie Byrd Land. Then once we get them talking, which shouldn't be hard—Uncle Vernon was always complaining that academics never shut up about their work once you show an interest—we slide in a question about anomalies that they can't explain… It should work, _if_ we ask the right questions, and find the right expert…"

"And if we don't, we can always try again," reassured Luna, "It sounds like it might be worth attempting."

She stood up abruptly, "You stay here; I'll go get Daddy's papers about Antarctica from my room… I'm sure he's got a list of Muggle scientists in there somewhere…"

Luna skipped out of the room before her companion could respond.

Harry had just finished tidying up the mess of newspapers scattered across the library table, to a semblance of order, when she returned juggling a pile of scrolls, in one arm, while reading an unrolled one that she held in the other.

The young witch stopped just short of running into Harry, "Here we are. Found it!"

She handed him the scroll she'd been reading, "According to Daddy's notes, most of the Muggle scientists in Great Britain that know anything about Antarctica work at a place called the British Antarctic Survey, in Cambridge. So if we try your idea that's the nearest we can properly find out anything, don't you think?"

"However, according to this—" she pulled another scroll from the pile and thrusting it excitedly at Harry, pointed to an article halfway down "—if we're going to Marie Byrd Land then I suppose our best hope is the American Muggles. A group of Muggle scientists called jeealegists are installing something called GSP there this year. They'll be camping in the Ford Ranges this year and I'm sure it will be lovely there!"

Harry stared, flabbergasted at her researching efficiency—she couldn't have been gone more than a couple of minutes—and finally understood why she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw.

He nodded, "That sounds good. Though, it occurred to me while you were gone that we should probably try just asking Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait, first. Maybe we'll get lucky, and he already knows the Ring's location… We can go to Hogwarts tomorrow, if you like; I have a few other questions that I need to ask him anyway… If he can't help us, then we can come up with a plan to get the Muggle scientists to tell us…"

They looked at each other and grinned. Tomorrow's conversation promised to be interesting, if nothing else. Hopefully it would be productive, as well.

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my new pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank **Faerie Fae,** **thunder18**, **gaul1**, **mwinter1**, **carrotofdoom**, **1sunfun**, **Penny is wise** and **kingstonavery **for their reviews of chapter 8, as well as thank the many people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and alerts.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry felt strangely nervous as he stepped over the broken guardian at the base of the stairway leading up to the headmistress's office, and climbed the moving stairs. He and Luna had made it to Hogwarts, without incident and managed to avoid talking to anyone—despite the clean-up crews still milling around in large numbers—Harry, through judicious use of his Invisibility Cloak, and Luna by simply ignoring everyone that tried to get her attention.

When they opened the door at the top of the stairs, the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall looked up from the paperwork she was sorting through on the large desk, "Good morning, Mr Potter, Miss Lovegood. To what do I owe the pleasure of today's visit? Have you come to volunteer to lend a hand?"

"Good morning, Professor—I mean Headmistress—no—I mean sorry—I mean we're not here about the cleanup. I was hoping—I mean… do you think we could have a few minutes alone in your office with Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait, please," Harry stumbled through his response.

Luna ignored the question in favour of wandering over to the Headmistress's bookshelves, and admiring the collection of books amassed by several centuries of headmasters.

For a moment McGonagall looked as though she might be offended, but then she nodded curtly, "Certainly, Mister Potter." She gathered up some papers and turned to leave, "I shall be in the teacher's lounge if you should need me."

"Thank you, Headmistress," said Harry. As she made her way out of the room, he took a moment to look around. Not much had changed. Aside from the Pensieve being back where it belonged, and the desk being slightly tidier, the room was exactly as Harry remembered the morning after the final battle.

The realization caused a pang of sadness to rise up within and it was a moment before he recovered his composure enough to address the sleeping portrait he had come to see, "Professor Dumbledore?"

The portrait startled awake. "Oh, good day, Mr Potter, and it seems that you've brought Miss Lovegood with you." He nodded in the direction of Luna who had now wandered away from the bookshelf and was instead inspecting some of his trinkets. "Am I to understand that she'll be joining you on your quest?"

Luna nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, Headmaster! Harry invited me to help him break into a high-security, top-secret ICW base in Antarctica, and re-write history."

"Break-in?" asked Dumbledore, "The ICW hasn't given their permission then?"

Luna shook her head, "They're all infected with vanusgenes!"

"They gave all kinds of fancy reasons, but I'm pretty sure the real reason is politics," added Harry. "So... Luna and I have decided to give it a go on our own. That's one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you: do you know where it is, exactly? Marie Byrd Land is huge!"

Luna nodded, and added, "Yes it's hundreds of millions of acres, and a lot of that is mountains."

The portrait shook his head, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, Harry. All I know is that it's hidden somewhere in Marie Byrd Land. I tried to avoid knowing too many specifics, in order to cut down on the many temptations involved in the Ring."

"I was afraid you might say that," Harry sighed. "What about the defences?"

"I only know that they aren't very extensive. The International Confederation of Wizards is relying mostly on the location's remoteness, inhospitable climate, and secrecy, as well as the Ring's natural defences, which are reputed to destroy anyone who tries to put it to nefarious use, as I mentioned before.

"The strongest wards in place are the Muggle Repelling ones. You won't be able to approach by Muggle vehicle. I'd probably recommend cold weather dogs as preferred method of transportation—the Muggles have banned them on the continent, but I'm sure you and Miss Lovegood can transfigure something for your use."

Harry glanced sideways at Luna; Tranfiguration wasn't his strong-suit.

"Don't worry about that, Harry," she reassured him, and then as if to prove her point, she pointed her wand at the trinket she'd been examining, transforming it nearly effortlessly into a calico cat. "See?"

Harry did see, but before he could respond, the newly transfigured cat leapt from the shelf it sat on to another, causing several fragile items to fall to the ground and shatter.

Twenty minutes, and numerous bloody scratches later, Harry finally managed to catch the beast and hold onto it long enough for Luna to reverse the transfiguration. It took another twenty minutes to repair all the damage it had caused to the office and its contents in that short time.

Finally, a slightly dishevelled, but no longer bleeding Harry collapsed into the headmistress's chair and turned back to the portrait, "We have a few more questions…"

"I can certainly try to answer them," answered the portrait, good-naturedly.

"First off, I'm confused about the Fidelius Charm," began Harry, "If the only people that could find our home in Godric's Hollow, were those that Pettigrew shared the secret with, how did Hagrid find me? And what about the hundreds of well-wishers that wrote on the sign in front of the house? They couldn't have all been in on the secret. Did the Charm fall? And how? The Fidelius on Headquarters survived even after you died."

"Yes, Harry, it fell with the death of your parents," confirmed Dumbledore. "The strength of a Fidelius Charm depends not only on the continued existence of the Secret Keeper, but also on the perseverance of the secret. As long as the secret continues to be true the Charm will persevere, regardless of the state of health of the Secret Keeper. Otherwise, it would be a simple matter of killing the Secret Keeper, to find one's prey.

"It's impossible to be sure without knowing the exact words used but, in your case, I believe the Fidelius fell after the death of both your parents, when the secret went from being something along the lines of, 'The Potter family is hiding in their cottage in Godric's Hollow...' to being 'Harry Potter is hiding in his cottage in Godric's Hollow...' The charm failed to adapt to the change and thus, it fell," explained Dumbledore.

"So, no one except those that Pettigrew had shared the secret with could have found my home until both my parents were dead," repeated Harry.

"Most likely," agreed Dumbledore. "Depending on the wording, it is also possible that the Charm died when your father did."

"I don't suppose you know who Pettigrew shared the secret with, aside from Voldemort?"

"Only that I was not included."

"What about me?" asked Harry, "Would Pettigrew have had to share the secret with my parents and me, or were we immune because we were the secret?"

"No," answered Dumbledore, "He would definitely have had to share the secret with you and your parents—much in the same way that each member of the Order had to been told the location of Headquarters—for you to be able to see and recognize each other, and to be able to enter your own home."

"So _I_ should still be able to find my family home, even if I travel back in time to before my parents died—to when the Fidelius Charm was still active?" asked Harry.

"Almost certainly," said Dumbledore.

"Only almost?"

"Travelling through time, as you plan to do involves a large series of unknowns, such that it is impossible to know anything for sure. However, I can foresee no circumstances that are likely to wipe that knowledge from your mind, especially now that you've been there as an adult and know where it is."

"But Harry would have to go alone?" Luna's interruption startled Harry; she'd wandered off again midway through the headmaster's explanation, and he'd almost forgotten she was there. "I wouldn't be able to go with him?"

The headmaster shook his head, "No, you wouldn't be able to get through the wards, or see through the Charm."

Harry nodded, "Makes sense. And if I decided to evacuate the Potters to Hogwarts before Voldemort shows up, would that cause the Charm to fall?"

Dumbledore nodded, then shook his head, "It depends on the phrasing of the secret. For instance, if we take my previous example, 'The Potter family is hiding in their cottage in Godric's Hollow...' the charm will almost certainly fall, the moment they are no longer hiding there. If however, the secret was a little more versatile, for instance, 'The Potter family lives in a cottage in Godric's Hollow...' simply relocating temporarily, would not affect the strength of the charm."

Harry nodded, "Okay, so I can't evacuate my parents without asking them what words they used. There goes the stun first, answer questions later approach…I—"

"Why do you have to ask them?" Luna cut him off, as she opened the cabinet where Harry had found the headmaster's Pensieve the night of the final battle.

"Well, I don't think asking Pettigrew would go over too well, Luna."

"No, that's not what I mean. _You_ already know the secret, Harry," she gestured to the Pensieve.

Harry looked puzzled for a moment. "No, I don't…or I do, but I don't remember…Oh! Is there some way I can make myself remember something that happened when I was a baby, Headmaster? Would the Pensieve work?" he asked.

"No, you need be able to consciously recall at least the vague details of an incident to be able to collect the memories for Pensieve viewing," answered Dumbledore. "Childhood memories are a generally considered tricky business. There's a reason Obliviating youngsters is frowned upon. Some Mind Healers have had limited success with a rather complicated meditation technique called Peithomancy. There's a rather specialized potion involved, followed up by inducing a meditative trance, and then asking the patient questions to encourage recall. I've also heard some cases of it being combined with Legilimency when conscious recall is particularly difficult."

"And where am I going to find a Mind Healer I can trust and that won't go blabbing to the papers the minute I leave their office?" asked Harry.

"All Healers take an oath to practice their craft ethically and to protect the privacy of their patients," reassured Dumbledore.

"Thanks Headmaster, I'll have to think about it." Harry hesitated, unconvinced. He didn't like the idea of letting a stranger riffle through his memories, but it was worth considering if it would help them plan ahead better.

"So if I can evacuate them without breaking the Charm, is there somewhere safe they could hide without being seen? A Portkey to somewhere in the castle?" he continued with their previous line of discussion.

Dumbledore shook his head, "The only person that can set up a Portkey anywhere on the grounds is the current Headmaster or Headmistress—if it were as simple as that, Voldemort would have attacked Hogwarts much sooner than he did," Dumbledore explained.

"So how then did Barty Crouch Junior make a Portkey to the graveyard during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore sighed, "Crouch only succeeded as he did because the cup was already a Portkey. I had charmed it to deliver the winner onto the podium, at the end of the Task. Since the Portkey had originally been cast by Hogwart's Headmaster, the wards permitted it to work, even after Crouch had managed to alter its destination.

"Of course there is nothing preventing you from depositing them somewhere outside the wards—the Shrieking Shack, for instance..."

"The Shrieking Shack is haunted by tormented souls," interrupted Luna.

"No, it isn't," said Harry. When she looked unconvinced, he added, "I'll explain later."

He looked back to the Headmaster, "Do you remember what the password to your office was on October 31st, 1981? In case I need to speak to you..."

The portrait paused for a moment, deep in thought, "Alas, even my recall is not perfect. I do like to choose Halloween themed sweets as my password around that time of year, but...it was sixteen years ago..."

Harry sighed, but then moved on; it had been a long shot… "Okay... next question: How did you get to Marvolo Gaunt's ring? And what should I do differently, if I don't want to lose a hand in the process?"

Harry was pleasantly surprised when Dumbledore proceeded, without argument or deflection, to describe the defences in far more details than he had ever been willing to share with Harry back when he had been alive, ending with, "As for how to avoid losing your hand; I would advise against touching the ring with your bare skin, and most importantly against slipping it onto a finger, regardless of how tempting it may seem—though perhaps less so for yourself who already possesses and controls this world's version of the Resurrection Stone."

"Any ideas how I might get my hands on Hufflepuff's Cup, without breaking into Gringotts?" asked Harry, filing away the information for later use.

"We're not going to break into Gringotts?" asked Luna, sounding disappointed, before the Headmaster could respond.

Harry glared at her, hadn't they already covered this issue? He took a few calming breaths before responding, through clenched teeth, "No, we are not breaking into Gringotts—unless it's _absolutely unavoidable_."

Harry's anger was diffused by Dumbledore's response, "I agree with Mr Potter, breaking into Gringotts should be considered only as a last resort. The best advice I can offer, would be to somehow convince one of the Lestranges to remove the cup themselves; the goblins are notoriously uncooperative with the Ministry with regards to providing access to the vaults of their patrons, even in cases where it is suspected they contain stolen property."

Harry smiled wryly, "Thanks anyways, Headmaster."

He turned to Luna, "Can you think of any questions I missed?" When she responded in the negative he continued, "We probably won't be coming back again; so, thanks for everything, Headmaster..."

"Good luck, Harry, and farewell," responded the wizard in the portrait.

Luna followed as Harry turned to leave. Halfway down the stairs he pulled his cloak back on; not only did he not want to be intercepted, he'd also rather not have to explain his current appearance.

As they crossed the grounds in silence, he allowed himself to contemplate the next step along the path they were forging. This was it, from here on out they were on their own.

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank **carrotofdoom, ****Penny is wise, magitech, Dragonladysally, ****thunder18**, and **Ceti H. Black **for their reviews of chapter 9, as well as thank the 254 people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts.


	11. Chapter 11

"Finally!" Harry exclaimed after hanging up the Muggle payphone for the fifth time that day.

Harry had spent the better part of the three days since his visit to Hogwarts trying to get an appointment to see one of the scientists on the list of British Antarctica experts. Unfortunately, the list had been both out of date and a little scarce on useful contact details. It had taken about three dozen phone calls, but he finally had an appointment to meet with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney at the Cambridge headquarters of the British Antarctic Survey, in one week's time.

Harry and Luna spent most—though not all—of the week at the British Library trying to familiarize themselves with enough Muggle science to muddle through the upcoming interview. They were somewhat hampered in their efforts by Luna's inability to comprehend computers, and Harry's inefficiency at research who had always relied heavily on Hermione to help him navigate the Hogwarts library.

When the date of the interview finally arrived, Harry Apparated them both to Cambridge and having secured Luna's promise to allow him to do all the talking, he approached the receptionist, a petite brunette, at the front entrance. "Good afternoon, Miss, my name is Harry Potter." Harry took a moment to savour the novelty of someone not glancing up at his fringe after hearing that introduction before continuing, "and this is my associate Luna Lovegood. We represent a small newspaper called the Quibbler. We have an appointment with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney."

"ID please," said the receptionist in the monotonous tone of voice associated with the boredom of a routine job.

Harry handed over a set of forged press passes.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked—having obviously not been paying attention to a word Harry had said.

"Yes," he repeated with a patience he was not feeling, "we have a two o'clock appointment with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney."

"Oh," she grumbled, sitting up a little straighter, "Just a moment then, while I contact the administration office."

She picked up the phone by her side, then proceeded to ignore them completely as she addressed the device in her hand, "It's Ida at the front desk, I've got a couple of reporters here... Oh? They _do_ have an appointment? Okay, I'll send them up."

She looked back up at Harry and Luna, "Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney, will see you now. His office is on the fifth floor. The lift is around the corner on the left."

Harry tried to thank her, but her attention was already back on her workstation.

The receptionist in the administration offices was much more inviting. She greeted them with a smile and a 'Good Afternoon' and clear directions to the Deputy Director's Office.

"Good afternoon, Dr Dudeney," Harry greeted the Deputy Director of the BAS, as the scientist beckoned them into his office, "Thank you for seeing us. My name is Harry Potter, and this is my associate Luna Lovegood.

"As I told your receptionist, when I called for an appointment, we represent a small newspaper called the Quibbler and we're hoping to write a piece on research in Antarctica. Your name came up as someone who might have a few answers."

"Pleased to meet you both. Please, take a seat," said the scientist, gesturing to two seats, piled with loose papers. Noticing their hesitation he added, "Oh, you can just put those on the floor. My apologies for the mess; I usually try to clean up when I'm expecting visitors, but I just haven't had the time."

"Don't worry about it. Our office is in a similar state," said Harry, as he set the papers on the ground and sat down, pulling a clipboard out of the book bag he'd brought. "How about you start by telling us a little about yourself?" he asked, in attempt to draw attention away from Luna—who seemed to be rifling through the stack of papers on the chair she'd been offered, instead of moving them aside.

"Certainly," answered the scientist, "When I first joined the BAS I worked the Upper Atmospheric Services Division. I became their head of department in 1990, until I was named Deputy Director of the BAS, this year."

"What would you like to share with our readers about the work the BAS is doing in Antarctica?" Harry asked next, and sat back pretending to take notes.

As the scientist took off at lightning speed in his description of the BAS's most prominent projects, Harry tried to gesture discreetly at Luna to sit down, instead of wandering around and poking around the office as she was doing. After ignoring him for a good ten minutes, she finally plopped into the seat, just as Dr Dudeney, paused for breath.

Harry immediately asked another question, cutting the scientist off before he could comment on Luna's invasion of his privacy—though, considering how passionate he'd been in his response to Harry's first question, he might not have even noticed.

As Dr Dudeney started talking once more, Luna caught Harry's eyes and whispered, "Why didn't you ask him about the location?"' Harry frowned back at her, and shook his head to indicate not yet.

Every once in a while, Harry asked a question about what the Deputy Director had been saying, when he appeared to be running out of wind, but for the most part, Dr Dudeney's presentation was self-sufficient, as he discussed his passion with an apparently captive audience.

While Harry seemed content to let the man talk about whatever he wanted, Luna was less patient, and kept tugging at Harry's sleeve each time he asked a question she didn't approve of. After a half-hour of keeping her promise to let Harry do most of the talking, she interrupted at the next pause in the monologue, "What can you tell us about the Belgica?"

Harry kicked her, and whispered, "Luna!" —a moment too late.

But he need not have worried, Dr Dudeney had begun answering the question, oblivious to the exchange between his two guests, "While biology is not my area of expertise, I have learned a little about the subject, by virtue of my new position. As I understand it, belgica antarctica is the largest purely terrestrial animal and only true insect that we have discovered in Antarctica. They are members of the suborder midge family which seem to have evolved a lack of wings as a defence mechanism against strong Antarctican winds. They are generally a few millimetres long, deep purplish black in coloration and have a lifecycle of about two years. They can survive a large variety of environmental changes as well as the freezing of their body fluids and severe dehydration..."

"Told you they were real!" whispered Luna, just as the scientist finished describing the insect. Then, emboldened by her initial success, she asked another question, "And what can you tell us about Crumple-Horned Seals?

The scientist responded with a blank look, "Can't say I've heard of them, and I do know most the vertebrate species living in and around Antarctica."

Harry gave Luna an exasperated look, then addressed the scientist, "My apologies for my colleague. She's a big fan of mythology and sometimes forgets the difference between real and made-up creatures." Then changing the subject, suggested, "Perhaps you could tell us a little about the living conditions in your Antarctica base camps?"

Luna grumbled at Harry's description of her, but allowed him to take back control of the interview, instead sitting back and taking notes.

Finally, as the interview was winding down, and discussion turned to advances in satellite reconnaissance, Harry, found the opening he'd been waiting for to ask the question they'd come to have answered, "We've heard rumours about anomalies noted on recent aerial and satellite reconnaissance imaging of Antarctica, particularly in the area of Marie Byrd land. Can you confirm anything about these rumours?"

Dr Dudeney, paused before answering, choosing his words carefully, "Why do you ask? Such rumours are hardly newsworthy for any paper short of a tabloid."

The serious nature of the challenge seemed to go straight over Luna's head but Harry understood it—he'd been expecting it, and had planned accordingly. "Just a wager I have with one of the guys back at the office. He claimed that you would try to cover it up, that scientists are always trying to hide data they can't explain. I bet him twenty quid that you were an honest man, and would confirm the rumours if they were true. We certainly have no intention of printing such information…"

"I see," answered the scientist, "Marie Byrd Land is not our area of study, but I do recall hearing something of the sort. They were, most likely, simply filed away to preserve the integrity of the whole data, since there was no way to interpret them. If you give me a moment, I'll see if I can pull up the images." Turning his back on his guests, he faced his computer screen and typed a few commands.

Five minutes later, a printer buried under a pile of books started spitting out papers. Dr Dudeney retrieved them and handed them over to his guests, "As you can see here, the anomalies seem to be isolated to 76°31′S 145°43′W between Mount Iphigene and Marujupu Peak in the Ford Ranges in western Marie Byrd Land.

"The Americans filed a report claiming that they have tried to explore the area in question but have been unable to get a clear visual due to frequent and intense whiteouts and equipment breakdowns whenever they get anywhere nearer than five miles from the calculated location of the anomaly..."

Harry smiled, "Thank you, Doctor. This will definitely take the wind out of Seamus's sail. And, thank you, once again for the interview." He stood to shake the older man's hand. "We'll see ourselves out."

As he and Luna stepped outside, Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised that he'd been holding. It seemed the gamble had paid off, and they had the information that they'd been after. Now if only he could figure out what to do with it...

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank **thunder18**, **Harriverse**, **gaul1**, **MaeSilverpaws1**, **Penny is wise, ****southern-reader, **and the guest-reviewer who reviewedchapter 10, as well as thank the 286 people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	12. Chapter 12

"_James, Lily, and Harry Potter are hiding at number 5 Cherry Road in Godric's Hollow."_

Harry couldn't help but be disappointed. He'd spent weeks trying to convince a Mind Healer to use Peithomancy on him, and to ask the questions he wanted. Apparently, finding her and setting up the initial appointment had been the easy part…

First, he'd endured several sessions, during which she'd tried to get him to talk about his feelings. Then, he'd put up with being labelled with about a half-dozen psychological diagnoses that he'd never even heard of, when he refused to co-operate. In the end, he'd only convinced her to do as he asked by promising to be more co-operative once she'd done so—a promise he had no intention of following up on.

So, to go through all that effort, only to find out that the secret was phrased in such a way that he wouldn't be able to evacuate any of the Potters without causing the charm to fall the moment they were no longer _hiding_ in Godric's Hollow…disappointed was an understatement. He didn't want to tip his hand before Voldemort showed up at Godric's Hollow on Halloween, or to do anything to prevent him from showing up… His entire plan hinged on Voldemort showing up…

_But, how could he keep them safe—which was the point of this whole endeavour—if he couldn't evacuate them? _The question echoed through his thoughts his whole way home and if it hadn't been for Luna reminding him of all the other things that they had to worry about, he probably would have spent the next month obsessing over the question.

And, there _was_ plenty to do without focusing on the one thing that he couldn't change. Fine-tuning their plans and gathering supplies for their Antarctica expedition, was only a small part of what needed to get done. For there to even _be_ an Antarctica expedition, first they'd have to find a way of getting themselves positions as general operation assistants with the specific group of American Muggles that would bring them closest to their ultimate destination.

It wasn't a simple task, especially since they were operating from halfway around the world. There were countless Muggle documents to forge and hundreds of phone calls to make— most of them international. Then, there were bribes to offer foreign Muggle dignitaries —a task that had first required Harry to convince the goblins to hand over his money, something they were wont to do, given the grudge they insisted on harbouring over his successful break-in several months prior—and perhaps a few instances of illegal mind control.

It would have been a lot simpler if they could have just Apparated, but in addition to the exorbitant distances involved, they lacked a clear visual of their destination and a clear understanding of the defences surrounding the Ring.

So, as they struggled with the seemingly impossible task of securing themselves places on the American Ford Range expedition, Harry found himself increasingly grateful for Luna's company. He could not imagine doing it all on his own. While she might have been useless at making phone-calls—she still couldn't figure out which end of the phone to talk into—but she'd done a lot of the legwork, including some research and spell-work he himself had struggled with.

Even with all the efforts they put in, Harry was left with a feeling that it had all been too easy, when they finally did manage, to secure the elusive positions by the end of August. _Perhaps it was Fate's way of making up for the rotten hand she'd dealt him thus far?_

Finally, on September first—they were cutting things a little close as far as timing was concerned, since they were expected in California that very same day, but Harry had chosen the date for its personal significance—they stood in the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place with their bags packed.

Harry paused to say his goodbyes to Kreacher. "Luna and I are leaving on a trip, and we don't expect to be coming back. When you feel our bond break, I want you to go stay with my godson Theodore Lupin and his grandmother Andromeda Tonks; they're to be your new Masters."

Kreacher didn't take the news well, "Has Kreacher failed to serve Master well, that he desires to rid himself of Kreacher?"

Harry pushed away the memories of a time when he would have liked nothing better than to rid himself of Kreacher, had it not meant him running straight to the Death Eaters his former Masters had idolised. Instead, he focused on the loyalty the elf had shown ever since Harry had first shown an interest in helping him fulfil Regulus Black's last request, "No, Kreacher. You've been a very good elf, but you can't follow where I'm going. So, I want you to take care of Teddy for me—I love him very much too, and I can't bring him along either."

Kreacher burst into tears. "Master…_loves_... Kreacher?"

Harry sighed and awkwardly patted the elf on the back, "Yes, Kreacher. So take care of yourself. No getting depressed and staying in this house with only Mrs Black to talk to. Promise?"

"Yes...Master...Kreacher...promises," the house-elf managed to say through his tears.

Having secured the desired promise, Harry stood to leave, glancing back only once as he and Luna gathered their bags and left number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the next phase of their journey.

Three hours later, they found themselves on a plane to Boston, Massachusetts— courtesy of a few forged documents and one Confundus Charm on an overly diligent teller— to join up with the UC Santa Barbara geophysics expedition onto which they had conned their way.

Harry managed to get Luna settled into her seat, with her seat belt fastened, and get her through the safety demonstration without incident. It probably helped that she spent most of the safety demonstration marvelling at the television screens which displayed the accompanying video, and that she probably didn't understand or care for some of the more technical terms being used. She didn't even react adversely to take-off—unless one counts a comment about barigigglers making her ears pop.

No, the first sign of trouble occurred when the captain came on with his greeting, after take-off, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Good afternoon and welcome aboard British Airways Flight 203 with non-stop service between London Heathrow International Airport and Boston Logan International. We have reached our cruising altitude of 35,000 feet now, so I am going to switch the seat belt sign off. Our flying time is about seven hours. We should be arriving about six o'clock local time."

"What did he mean 35,000 feet? How are we going to breathe?" Luna gripped Harry's arm; she was becoming increasingly agitated.

Harry stifled a laugh. Luna was usually pretty unflappable and he'd never seen her so nervous before. "We'll be fine as long as we stay on the plane," he said, trying to reassure her. "Think of it like a giant Bubblehead Charm."

She did calm down after that—to the point that she fell asleep on Harry's shoulder when the flight crew turned the lights down. Harry, unfortunately, didn't manage to fall asleep and the rest of the flight was uneventful but _long_.

Still, before they knew it they were conning their way through customs in Boston, and catching another seven hour flight to Los Angeles. There they met with the recruiting officer that had been sent to greet them, a grim-looking man with a crew cut who seemed incapable of smiling. "You the couple of GAs that we're expecting from Boston?" were his only words of greeting.

"That's us." Harry extended a hand, in an attempt at a friendly greeting.

The recruiting officer didn't take it, "Nick Parker, Raytheon Polar Services. Follow me. You're the last to arrive."

"We caught the earliest open flight," Harry lied, in defence.

Nick ignored Harry's comment, instead choosing to remark, his tone derogatory, "You sound like a couple of Brits."

"We're rather recent immigrants," replied Harry, not deigning to clarify that they had been on US soil less than twenty-four hours and that their immigration status would definitely be considered illegal if anyone dug deep enough. "Haven't lost the accent yet..."

"Humph," was the older man's only response.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Finally, they reached a small private bus with the Raytheon Polar Services logo parked outside the airport. Nick climbed aboard and took a seat near the back, walking straight past the bus driver, and not bothering to check that they were still with him.

"Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood, GAs for the Ford Range expedition," said Harry as way of greeting, in response to the bus driver's raised eyebrows and inquisitive look.

"I don't think Nick likes us," whispered Luna.

The bus driver laughed, "Don't let him get to you; he's like that with all the rookies. Go ahead and find yourselves some seats. It's not too long a ride."

After stowing their luggage, Harry sank gratefully into one of the seats, closing his eyes; the strain of fourteen hours of flight, a two hour layover, and an eight hour time zone jump was really beginning to take a toll on him.

Unfortunately, Luna didn't let him rest long. They had just pulled out of the airport parking lot when she poked him and asked, "Harry?"

"What?" he answered, trying to hide his annoyance. Wasn't she tired too? Of course, she'd slept on the plane; he hadn't.

"Shouldn't we be on the other side of the road?" she asked, a little too loudly for Harry's comfort.

Harry shook his head. Holding a finger up to his lips, he whispered back, "No, they do things backwards here in America." Before closing his eyes once more, determined to get some rest.

He'd only had his eyes closed a minute, when he felt her squeeze his hand. "Harry?"

"Yes, Luna?" he answered, without opening his eyes.

"Thanks for bringing me along."

He did look at her then, and couldn't help but smile back, unable to stay mad at Luna for long.

She patted her shoulder. "Get some sleep, Harry. You can rest your head on me this time."

Unfortunately, the drive from the airport to the Raytheon Polar Services Company's Los Angeles Briefing Centre, which would be their home for the next few weeks, was too short for him to actually fall asleep, but the gesture was appreciated, particularly since Luna didn't find any other ways to annoy him, or blow their cover…

As Harry relaxed into his seat, his head leaning on Luna's shoulder, he hoped the worst of the hassle was over. He was so wrong. The next few weeks were going to be trying…

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed chapter 11: **Darth Drafter**,** Super-Saiyan-3-Vegeta**,** jbfritz**,** AJ Granger**,** Uchiha Rai**,** arturhawkwing11**,** Dr Stranger**,** RRW**,** serialkeller**,** eostby**,** HellsMaji**,** dammyd**,** kidres**,** gaul1**,** MaeSilverpaws1**, and** Penny is wise**. I would not have been half as productive this past week, if not for you. Many thanks, as well, to the 327 people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	13. Chapter 13

"Where did you get that scar on your forehead Mr Potter?"

Harry stared blankly at the stern-looking Muggle, who'd introduced herself as Nurse Stern; what a way to start off his mandatory health screening! It seemed his and Luna's first week at Raytheon Polar Services Company's Los Angeles Briefing Centre was doomed to begin rather inauspiciously—for himself at least…

Taking a calming breath, he answered, "Car accident when I was fifteen months old," falling back easily on the lie the Dursleys had fed him for almost a decade.

"I see," she said, writing down his response, "and was that the only injury you suffered in the accident?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, my mother shielded me with her own body."

"I see," the nurse repeated, "and the scar on your hand?" She pointed to where the words _'I must not tell lies'_ were carved into his right hand, "Do you make a habit of lying?"

Harry rubbed the words unconsciously before doing just that, "When I was fifteen, we had a crazy teacher at my boarding school, who used a branding iron on students as punishment, before threatening us, and swearing us to secrecy, to keep the Headmaster from finding out."

The nurse gasped, both appalled and incredulous. However, despite how disturbing and unbelievable Harry's rendition of events was, she'd heard worse over the course of her thirty-year career in health-care, and her mind failed to come up with a better explanation. Finally, she found her voice, "A teacher did that?"

Harry nodded, but did not repeat himself.

"I hope she didn't get away with it," she continued.

An uneasy silence followed, as Harry let her draw her own—probably erroneous—conclusions.

"I see," she said—again.

Harry was beginning to find her fondness for those two words annoying, but he didn't comment, particularly since she followed them up with a change of subject. The interview seemed to proceed smoothly for a while, after that. It probably helped that Harry had remembered to forge documents attesting that his and Luna's mandatory shots were all up to date, avoiding some difficult questions about missing vaccinations.

Unfortunately, the reprieve from awkward questions was only temporary. After completing her interview, the nurse handed him a hospital gown and asked him to strip down to his pants, while she informed the doctor that he was ready for her. When she returned, she caught sight of the rest of his scars—those that had been hidden by his clothing, and started in on him again. "Where did you get _that_ nasty scar, Mr Potter?" she pointed to the scar in the crook of his right arm, where Wormtail had taken his blood to resurrect Voldemort.

"Knife wound, from a mugging when I was fourteen."

"And this one?" she pointed to the scar left behind by Harry's encounter with a Basilisk.

"Large venomous snake when I was twelve."

"That's quite a big scar; I didn't realise that snakes could grow so big."

"Neither did I, until I met the snake who bit me..."

"And what were you doing in the vicinity of a large venomous snake, at age twelve?"

Harry laughed nervously. _How to explain?_ Finally he settled on, "I was twelve, and an idiot." He was spared having to answer any more questions by the timely arrival of the doctor, a no-nonsense woman who apparently had no time or interest in questions—unless you count, "does it hurt when I press here?" as a question…

The rest of the week, after both Harry and Luna managed to escape the clutches of the medical team with a clean bill of health, passed in a blur of conferences ranging from the history of US involvement in the Antarctic, to modern-day ship and aircraft operations. Harry tried to pay attention, in case some minute detail might be important later, but a lot of the information went over his head and, after a full year without formal lessons, he found concentrating on theory sessions difficult. All the same, he probably retained more than Luna, with regards to Muggle technology, at least.

The first aid training lessons, served as an excellent distraction from the constant lectures—even though Harry found himself intervening on several occasions, to prevent Luna from attempting to use magic instead of Muggle methods. Not that he could really blame her; most of the time he was sorely tempted to do so himself.

In fact, by the second week, after they'd been issued their cold weather gear from the RPSC's stores and had entered into the field training portion of their orientation, he found himself subtly resorting to magic during some of the trials they were exposed to. He might have been slightly more equipped for the challenge than Luna—courtesy of the difficult camping trip, during his yearlong search for Voldemort's Horcruxes—but he'd had easy access to a wand during most of that time. Thus, by the time they'd been finally cleared for the voyage, Harry had been good and ready to move on for what seemed like forever, fed up with the constant challenges thrown their way by the training instructors…

The journey began with a rather anti-climactic commercial flight to Christchurch, New Zealand, in the company of his fellow Raytheon summer season employees, which was only slightly longer than the trip from Britain had been. The only difference seemed to be the need to deflect friendly and well-meaning overtures from future colleagues, without appearing to be rude.

The uneventful flight to Christchurch was followed be a flight on a military aircraft to McMurdo Station, the USA's main base in Antarctica. That flight wasn't quite as smooth… The noise and near constant turbulence, made conversation difficult, and reminded him—inexplicably—of the broom ride that Mad-Eye Moody had lead from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place the summer before his fifth year.

Finally, at McMurdo Station Harry and Luna said their farewells to most of their group, more than half of which were remaining behind. The rest were continuing on, but not all to the same destination. Some were going to the South Pole Station, others to various temporary summer stations including a handful who were also bound for the Ford Range base in Marie Byrd Land, where Luna and Harry were heading.

At their camp in Marie Byrd land, Harry and Luna soon found themselves melding with the team, despite their reluctance to do so. In such close quarters it was hard to avoid making friends, with everyone from the kitchen staff to the scientists heading the camp: Bruce Luyendyk, Andrea Donnellan, Carol Raymond, and Erik Ivins. The scientists, with the exception of Erik, were surprisingly down-to-earth, and treated everyone with respect, even Harry and Luna, who found themselves at the absolute bottom of the chain of command, in their role as general menial labour.

The pair did, however, have to put up with a bit of teasing for the fact that, between the two of them, they had packed a dozen miniature Siberian husky soft toys. Luna had affectionately named hers Rusty, Beauty, Handsome, Frankie, Thumper, and Sherby and had insisted that Harry's needed names as well. After some cajoling, he agreed to pick some names. That he chose to call his dogs: Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, Ron, and Hermione, was fairly indicative of his state of mind.

When one of the cooks had asked why they'd packed so many stuffed toys, Harry had refused to answer. Luna, on the other hand, had answered without hesitation, "We had to bring them because _real_ cold-weather dogs are not allowed, in Antarctica! Which I suppose makes sense, since we don't want them attacking the Crumple-horned seals—they're an endangered species, you know—but it is still rather frustrating."

The cook had given her a puzzled look after that and decided against asking any other questions, seeing as the first answer had just left him more confused.

Harry and Luna ended up spending two weeks at the Ford Range Base, getting a feel for the lay of the land, and the operation of the over-snow vehicles, before one morning mid-November they abandoned camp, while the rest of the team slept off the effects of a sleeping draught slipped into their evening hot cocoa. They took with them a stolen snowmobile, sled, pyramid tent and a month's worth of food and supplies and left behind a very large wad of cash, converted to American dollars—the unspent balance of the Potter, Black, and Lovegood fortunes, after having left behind a sizable portion for both Teddy Lupin and Molly Weasley—along with a brief note:

_Our apologies for leaving you short-staffed and for the theft of equipment and supplies. We hope this more than adequately compensates you for the inconvenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter & Luna Lovegood_

While they felt guilty about the theft, particularly after the period of getting to know their colleagues, they could think of no other way to safely reach their destination—even with magic on their side. Even with the combination of the stolen supplies _and_ magic, there was no guarantee that they would succeed…

* * *

**A/N:** Bruce Luyendyk, Andrea Donnellan, Carol Raymond, and Erik Ivin are real scientists and really did work with GPS in the Ford Ranges in 1998. Anything else I said about them was creative licence.

Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed chapter 12: **Penny is wise**, **jbfritz**, **Dr Stranger**, **Spyrofan777**, **serialkeller**, and **gaul1**. Many thanks, as well, to the 370 people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	14. Chapter 14

**Dedication:** I would like to dedicate this chapter and the next to the dearly departed Rusty, Beauty, Handsome, Frankie, Thumper, and Sherby.

* * *

"Watch out!" Luna yelled.

Harry slammed on the brakes just in time. That was the tenth precipice the snowmobile had almost toppled off of since they'd started their day. He pulled into reverse, and then, after coming to a stop, switched seats with Luna. He sighed, longing for the early days of their journey—before the blizzard.

They'd originally made pretty good time towards the co-ordinates where they believed Merlin's Ring to be hidden. However, as the days passed, and the closer they'd found themselves to their destination, the worse the weather had become. After the first three days of progressively increasingly foul weather, Luna had attributed the phenomenon to the weather magic of Native American shamans. Harry, though he knew next to nothing about Native American shamans, had been inclined to agree.

By the seventh day, he definitely agreed. The weather outside had deteriorated to the point of a whiteout, the falling and blowing snow appearing to merge with the wholly white landscape until the horizon had disappeared completely. It was impossible to make out surface irregularities in the snow, or see where they were going, so they'd made the decision to lay up for a few days. Unfortunately, after several days without any change, it had become clear that the weather would not be improving any time soon, and they'd been forced to persevere—despite the dangers—for fear that they would run out of supplies before they reached their destination.

That had been a week ago. The pair had been travelling through unbroken, colourless landscape, over mountainous terrain, for days now, and the weather still showed no signs of clearing up. Harry had lost track of the number of times they'd narrowly avoided critical accidents with the vehicle, through a mixture of magic and luck. They'd had to keep their use of spells to a minimum, for fear of damaging the sensitive Muggle electronics that they were counting on for their survival—particularly the portable GPS which insured that they continued to progress in the right direction. But, they'd be long dead—or at least trapped in an ice fissure somewhere, which would amount to the same thing—if they'd had to do without their wands completely.

Unfortunately, neither could do anything about the fact that, approximately five miles out from their destination, their snowmobile abruptly stopped running and their portable GPS stopped working, most likely as a result of the Muggle-repelling wards protecting the Ring. Although they had anticipated the break-down, it would take time to put their contingency plan into place. So, they'd set up camp for the night—despite it being mid-morning—to give themselves time to regroup.

After setting up their stolen pyramid tent, Harry and Luna crawled in, grateful for the brief reprieve from the weather. Harry began the process of sorting through their supplies, discarding any and all Muggle equipment that had stopped working, in order to lighten their load. Luna unpacked their Siberian husky soft toys, and set about the task of transfiguring them into life-sized sleigh-dogs.

Unsurprisingly, the weather hadn't improved any when the pair set off the next morning and, although the transfigured dogs had the advantage of not requiring food or water as normal dogs would have, they _did_ require near constant coaxing in order to move forward.

Harry's initial attempts to spur them into action were decidedly unsuccessful, so Luna took over the job of convincing the dogs to pull the loaded, though magically lightened, sleigh, "Now, Rusty! Now, Frankie! Now, Handsome and Beauty! On, Thumper! On Sherby! On, James and Lily! Now, Sirius! Now, Remus! Now, Ron and Hermione!"

Her methods were far more successful, but Harry found himself laughing inside at her choice of wording. By the third repetition, he couldn't help the laughter leaking out, as well as the comment, "Too bad we seem to have forgotten Rudolph."

Luna pulled the sleigh to a halt and regarded him, quizzically.

"The red-nosed reindeer," Harry clarified.

This time she raised an eyebrow, "I've never heard of red-nosed reindeer."

Harry laughed again. It was hard to believe that he might have stumbled on the one fictional creature that Luna _wasn't_ familiar with. "Sorry, Muggle children's story; Rudolph's nose glowed bright red, and Father Christmas used the light he gave off to guide his sleigh on a foggy Christmas Eve. Dudley used to watch the movie on the telly every Christmas," he explained, "It's just that the way you were urging the dogs on, it reminded me of Father Christmas directing his flying reindeer in the 'Night Before Christmas'—another Christmas story."

"That's a great idea, Harry!" Luna exclaimed, "We can give all the dogs glowing noses! Here, you hold the reins; I know just the spell." She handed the reins to him and jumped off the sleigh, before he could object.

Sure enough, when she hopped back on, each of the twelve dogs had brightly shining red noses. Granted, the red-nosed sleigh dogs didn't make much of a difference with regards to visibility—aside from changing the colour of the snow—but the smile on Luna's face, as she took the reins once more, made the change worthwhile in Harry's eyes.

Progress continued to be slow. Frequent use of the Four-Point Spell assured the pair that they were still heading in the direction they had been before their equipment failure, but they had no way of gauging their progress. They could only hope that poor visibility didn't cause them to overshoot their target.

They needn't have worried, however. About a mile from their target, the weather cleared abruptly—like stepping into the eye of a storm—and Harry caught sight of a tiny golden glow in the distance.

The Headmaster had been right. Although they approached cautiously, they encountered no defences; _nothing_ impeded their progress. Finally, Luna pulled the sleigh to a stop at the foot of a stone pedestal, on which stood a fifteen-foot golden ring. Close-up, Merlin's Ring—for that's what it must be—was even more impressive than it had appeared in the distance.

As Harry stepped out of the sleigh and onto the stone pedestal, he found himself caught within a field of golden tinted light being emitted by the Ring, staring, mesmerized and unable to turn away. Time lost all meaning.

"I think she likes us." Luna's statement snapped him out of his state of rapture, and Harry was left with the feeling that he'd just been studied, judged and found worthy, all his doubts about their quest simply fading away.

Seeing Luna's dreamy smile pleased Harry, too. He could not help but notice how low in spirit she had been in recent days. Now that her good humour was back in full force, he realised the sensation of his having been approved by the Ring's enchantment had not been imagination: it had clearly affected her too. He grinned at her affectionately. He loved that she had her own way of saying what he, himself, was feeling. It was clear that the experience had been unique and personalized.

Finding Merlin's Ring had been the goal that had kept him going these past months, particularly the last few weeks as they had battled terrible weather. Now that they had found it, Harry couldn't quite bring himself to step through it—not just yet. So, rather than jumping straight into the ritual detailed in Merlin's journals, Harry found himself erring on the side of caution, setting up a final camp a few hundred yards from the base of the Ring.

He spent most of the evening going over his plans one more time, but was unable to convince Luna to do the same. She insisted on using the time to attempt to decipher the ancient runes which covered the Ring, instead, though given the size of the Ring and the number of runes, she could never finish in such little time.

The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Harry finally gathered the courage to begin the Ritual of Merlin's Choice. Standing before the Ring, he donned his Invisibility Cloak, and, holding the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone in his right hand, bid Luna take his left. After a deep breath he uttered the words that he had memorised, "O sanctus et sacra orbis ignis, præcipio tibi da mihi locum olim, ut partum a novus orbis in meditatione mea et nobilis, nobile, et secundum voluntatem tuam, ut de novo incipere a principio novum historia," As he did so, he pictured clearly in his mind his desired destination in time and space, with the desire that his companion and Death's gifts— the Deathly Hallows —might follow him through to his destination.

The moment he completed the chant, flames shot out from the Ring, engulfing them both where they stood, yet burning harmlessly around them. Finally, the flames cleared, and Harry found himself staring at what looked like a vertical puddle of fire, burning within the Ring.

By unspoken agreement, the two travellers advanced together towards the fiery pool, before stepping through the Ring itself…

**the END?**

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed chapter 13: **smaiyur**,** AJ Granger**,** sarah-rose76646**,** SimplyBlueToday**,** Anthro79**,** gaul1**,** serialkeller**,** Mechconstrictor**,** Zamatha-Roses**,** Penny is wise**, and** Lordban**. Many thanks, as well, to the 416 people who added me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	15. Chapter 15

Harry felt like he was being both torn apart and burned alive.

The journey through Merlin's Ring could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he and Luna finally stumbled out the other end of the vortex, into the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts, on what Harry presumed to be October 31st, 1981. He turned for one last glance at the vortex that had spit them out, but it had already disappeared.

"Well, that was interesting!" exclaimed Luna, "Do you think the Ring was powered by heliopaths?" Harry didn't think heliopaths had anything to do with it, but his skin did feel raw and painful all over, as though he'd just bathed in scalding water.

He glanced down at his hands, concerned, but they weren't actually red, despite how they felt. Next, he turned to his companion, taking in her appearance. She was naked as the day she was born, but she too didn't seem to be burned. She also didn't seem to be at all perturbed by the fact that the layers upon layers of cold weather garments she'd been wearing in Antarctica had disappeared—or perhaps burned up—at some point in transit. As for Harry, his own clothes hadn't fared any better, making him incredibly grateful that he'd opted to wear the Invisibility Cloak and that it—along with the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone—had survived the journey.

"I'm going to try to find myself some clothes," he said, averting his gaze from his travelling companion's nudity.

Once he'd put enough distance between himself and Luna, so as to not be able to inadvertently catch sight of her bare body—he _really _didn't want to think about Luna naked—Harry cast a general Summoning Charm, to locate some clothes in the maze that was the Room of Hidden Things. Quite a few items responded to his _Accio_, and he managed to piece together a half-way decent outfit for himself and, while he was at it, set aside a few items for Luna, in case she still wasn't dressed when he got back.

She wasn't. However, the fact that she was still completely naked might not have been entirely her fault. She probably hadn't been able to locate any clothes in a timely manner—assuming that she'd looked—without her wand, which had _not _survived the trip. So, Harry stifled his sigh of exasperation and, instead of asking whether she was planning to get dressed anytime soon, thrust the pile of clothes he'd collected in her general direction and said, "Here, I found you some clothes."

She took them from him but, rather than peruse them immediately said, "Oh, but it's such a relief to be finally free after all that heavy clothing! Why do I have to get dressed right away? It's not like I can come with you to—" she paused, searching her mind for the location in question before giving up, "—wherever it is that your family is hiding. I might as well wait for you here."

This time Harry did sigh. "You can't just lie around naked, Luna. You're supposed to meet my parents in the Shrieking Shack to explain things, since I probably won't have time to." When she still made no move to get dressed, he added, "If you hurry up I can take you under the Cloak; the Shack is as good a place as any for me to Apparate from."

"Fine," she answered, pouting—or rather, Harry suspected that she was pouting, based on her tone of voice. He steadfastly refused to look her way, until she was fully clothed, even as he heard her begin to riffle through the pile of clothes that he'd handed her.

Once he was sure that she was actually getting dressed, Harry wandered off to give her some privacy—not that she seemed to need it—and to try Summoning a wand for her. None came flying. Apparently, no one had been foolish enough to leave a wand in the Room of Requirement. Then again, he would have been surprised if someone had.

When he returned empty-handed a few minutes later, Luna was fully clothed and had somehow managed to recreate her usual eccentric style of dress from the small assortment of available garments. She didn't seem overly disappointed by his inability to find her a wand. Instead of complaining, she gracefully accepted his apology, before joining him under the Invisibility Cloak, without further argument.

When they reached the Shrieking Shack at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Harry found himself hesitating. He broke the silence, "I guess this is it... wish me luck?"

Luna smiled at him encouragingly, "Good luck, Harry."

Harry nodded his thanks, and then gathering up his courage, Apparated to the road just outside number 5 Cherry Road. He took a moment to take in the sight of his family home—standing once more but hidden from all but a select few—before approaching. There was no mistaking the exact moment he crossed the ancient blood wards at the edge of the property, but even seventeen years out of time they recognized and let him through.

At the threshold, he hesitated, once more. Though he had imagined this scenario hundreds of times, and imagined dozens of ways the present scene might unfold, he now found himself frozen in indecision, his plans forgotten. Should he enter with his Cloak on or off? Should he attempt to explain himself right away, or Stun his parents first, then explain? Should he explain at all, or simply send them to Luna, via Portkey, despite the fact that it would destroy the wards? Should he not even approach his parents and instead lie in wake for Voldemort and attack the dark wizard before he engaged his father in a wand fight?

Finally, his mind made up, Harry cast a non-verbal _Alohomora _and slipped quietly through the front door. He watched in silence, for a moment, as his family enjoyed what seemed to be a quiet evening in the living room. Lily sat in a deep couch by the fire, knitting what looked to be a scarf to Harry's untrained eyes. James sat across from her with a book in his lap watching fifteen-month-old Harry, who sat on the floor between them, playing with an assortment of colour-changing multicoloured blocks.

The longer Harry stood watching, the more he felt like a spy—an intruder in his own home. Finally, unable to take the tension any longer, he pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and cleared his throat, to get his parents' attention. The results were nearly instantaneous. Within seconds of noticing him, both adults had their wands drawn and pointed his way.

Harry dropped his wand and threw up his empty hands in surrender. Sensing the nervous tension in the air, he took a deep breath, and exhaled, preparing to explain. "I mean you no harm," he began, "I came to warn you. Voldemort—" A silent Stunner caught him by surprise mid-sentence.

When he came to again and found himself magically bound to a chair, Harry attempted, unsuccessfully, to quash the panic that was slowly rising in him. _Why hadn't his parents let him explain before tying him up? _He'd expected them to at least hear him out. _How long had he been unconscious? How long did he have before Voldemort showed up? Would things have worked out better if he'd followed Luna's plan, instead of acting on a whim? _

Lily and baby Harry were nowhere in sight but his father stood before him, wand drawn. "Who are you?" James asked, his voice hard, "How did you get through our wards?"

Harry, still in a state of panic, ignored the question, "Please, you have to let me go. Voldemort might be here any minute. It's not safe."

"Who are you?" repeated James, more forcefully than before, "How did you get through our wards?"

Taking a few calming breaths, Harry attempted to answer. After his first three false starts, he settled for, "You won't believe me if I tell you."

"Who are you?" James demanded.

Harry took another deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable outburst, "My name is Harry James Potter."

The sputtering rage with which his father reacted did not disappoint. He didn't curse Harry, but definitely looked ready to do so.

"Please, just let me explain," Harry continued, "I know that I have no way to prove it, but hear me out. I just walked through the Fidelius Charm _and _the ancient Potter blood wards without raising an alarm. I have my mother's eyes, and my father's hair and nose, and I arrived in Ignotus Peverell's Cloak of Invisibility, which has been passed down through my father's family—your family—for generations."

"My son is fifteen months old. You are _not _my son. I don't know how you stole my cloak from Dumbledore, or tricked the blood wards, or what you did to Peter to get him to reveal our secret, but you _will _tell me!" James yelled.

"Please," Harry pleaded, "Voldemort knows your location, and is going to attack here tonight. I travelled back through time in order to warn you; to evacuate you to safety while I take care of him."

"A likely story."

Harry sighed. Somehow in all his considerations he'd overlooked this possibility. Why had he thought that his parents would welcome him with open arms? Luna had warned him that they probably wouldn't.

"Please," he tried again, "I don't want you to die. I came here to prevent you from dying and leaving baby Harry an orphan to be raised miserable and abused by Vernon and Petunia Dursley and being turned into a martyr by Dumbledore." Harry was vaguely aware that he was babbling, but his mention of the Dursleys seemed to have gotten James' attention, so he continued, "I'm the only one that stands a chance of vanquishing him. _Please, Dad_."

He took it as a good sign that James didn't immediately start yelling at him again, but as the silence following his statement grew, Harry found himself attempting to wandlessly free himself of his bindings—both magical and physical. The odds of him escaping his bonds and overpowering his father were decidedly low, however—particularly with James' wand trained on him. He also still hadn't seen or heard Lily, since she'd Stunned him. Was she hidden just out of sight, ready to assist James, or had she retreated to the relative safety of the upstairs floor with baby Harry?

James had yet to make up his mind when his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief; both he and Harry felt the moment Voldemort began tearing down the outer wards.

"It's him!" said Harry, "We're out of time! Untie me, and get your wife and son out of here, before we all die!"

James appeared to hesitate for a moment more, his mouth gaping in shock, but he _did_ free Harry.

The younger wizard ignored the mutter of, "I can't believe that I'm trusting you," as he reclaimed his wand and quickly pulled the Invisibility Cloak back on.

"Go! Run!" Harry repeated. When James still seemed in no hurry to flee, he added, "Get yourselves to the Shrieking Shack. I'll meet you there," hoping that he'd be able to keep his word. So much had gone wrong already that he was no longer sure if he'd be leaving Godric's Hollow alive. Thank goodness Luna had stayed behind; she'd be able to warn the Headmaster about Voldemort's Horcruxes if he didn't make it back.

James disappeared up the stairs, just as Voldemort blasted his way through the front door. The Dark Lord paused to cast a detection charm, and locating the home's three known inhabitants on the second floor, headed towards the stairs. He didn't notice Harry—hidden from more than just sight by Ignotus Peverell's Cloak of Invisibility—even as the younger wizard snuck up behind him, wielding the Elder Wand.

Harry opened his mouth to incant the Killing Curse, "_Ava—__"_

Voldemort spun around in surprise—much quicker than Harry had anticipated—and blasted a silent curse in his general direction, before Harry could utter more than the first syllable.

Harry threw himself to the ground—just in time—as a flash of sickly yellow light zoomed through the space he'd previously occupied. Fragments of wood and upholstery went flying as the curse shattered the armchair James had been sitting in earlier that evening.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry tried again, rolling right to avoid another curse from Voldemort.

This time the flash of green light hit the dark wizard square in the chest, and he crumpled to a heap on the parlour floor, a look of astonishment on his face.

Harry stared in disbelief—and relief. Relief that he'd not been hit, disbelief at his success… While he'd been on the receiving end of more than his share of Killing Curses, it was the first time he'd actually cast one himself. Could it really be that simple? Was he really the first person to actually hit Voldemort with a Killing Curse?

The relief lasted only a minute. He knew that it was an empty victory. Five sixths of Voldemort's soul still needed to be hunted down and destroyed...

* * *

**A/N: **So there you have it, the first chapter in the past. Please let me know what you think.

Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 14: **ExtremeMellowPudding**, **Penny is wise**,** wellivazey**,** george17**,** jbfritz**,** Daerwin45**,** Arekanderu**,** MaeSilverpaws1**,** serialkeller**,** Dr Stranger**,** sachaelle**,** Blazen**,** Riniko22**,** Anthro79**,** marcus nightfire**,** OldMasterMage**,** gaul1**,** mwinter1**,** ErikArden**,** Amanz**, and the** Guest** who was my first reviewer for chapter 14. Remember everyone; I can't respond if you don't sign your reviews..

Many thanks, as well, to the 425 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	16. Chapter 16

_Crack!_

Harry was startled out of his contemplation by the sound of someone Apparating onto the lawn of his family home. Moments later, a dark-haired wizard burst into the parlour, wand raised.

The wizard stopped short at the sight of Voldemort's dead body in the middle of the floor. Then, catching sight of Harry, he launched himself at the younger wizard and enveloped him in a massive hug that could have given Hagrid a run for his money. "James! When Peter wasn't home and I could suddenly remember your address, I realized at once that the Fidelius must have collapsed. I came as quickly as I could! Are Lily and Harry...?"

"Sirius," wheezed Harry, "can't breathe."

"Oh!" Sirius released Harry, and stepped back. Catching his first true look at Harry, he took another step back, startled, "You're not James!"

"No, I'm not," agreed Harry, "But James is fine, and Lily, and Harry. I sent them to hide in the Shrieking Shack while I took care of..." he gestured to the corpse.

Sirius nodded in relief, but then his grin faded abruptly, and his expression turned suspicious, "Who are you?"

Harry groaned, "Oh please, not you too!"

Sirius gave him a curious look, but did not respond.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I'm baby Harry all grown up?" asked Harry, hopefully, "You _did _just mistake me for my father..."

Sirius took a hard look at the wizard before him, logic warring against what his instincts were screaming, "Harry?"

Harry let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and sighed in relief, grateful that not everyone in 1981 was as suspicious as his parents, "Yes."

"But—but—how?" stuttered Sirius.

"That," answered Harry, "is a long story and I'd rather tell it only once. Go find Remus—he needs to hear this too— and meet me at the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

Sirius, his mouth still gaping in disbelief, didn't move.

"Please," Harry prompted, "I promise, I'll explain everything, once everyone is together."

Finally, despite a great show of reluctance, Sirius Apparated away.

Harry found himself alone once more—except for Voldemort's corpse. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down and placed a shaking hand on the dead wizard. Concentrating, he Apparated them both to the Shrieking Shack, arriving just in time to hear James ask Luna, "So, are you 'Harry's' girlfriend?"

Harry spent a moment wondering how exactly Luna had succeeded in engaging his parents in friendly conversation—instead of winding up tied to a chair like he had—before registering the sarcasm in James' voice and realizing that she _was_ tied to a chair and had both James' and Lily's wands pointed in her direction.

His parents looked jumpy and unsure of themselves; Luna sported her usual dreamy expression and didn't seem at all distressed.

"Oh good, you're back, Harry!" Luna cheerfully interrupted his train of thought, "And you've only got one body this time!"

Harry nodded, his expression grim, "One enemy, instead of two more friends to mourn..."

Luna smiled, "They'd be glad—a battle where only the enemy dies is a double victory."

"We're not done yet," answered Harry, "there's still so much to do…"

"Spoilsport!" said Luna pouted briefly, then abruptly changed the subject, "Do you think you could convince your parents to untie me? I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers and toes."

Harry shook his head and drew her attention to Lily's wand, which though trembling was now pointed his way; James' wand was still directed at Luna. "I don't think they trust me enough to do anything I say."

"Even though you just killed Voldemort?" she asked.

"Apparently, or they wouldn't still be pointing wands at us." Neither wand wavered.

Harry turned slowly towards James, raising his hands in surrender—again. While he was pleasantly surprised that they hadn't cursed him yet, despite having had ample time while he and Luna had been talking, he wasn't taking any chances. "I thought we covered all this back at the house, before you untied me," he addressed James, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice, "Don't you think that, if I meant you harm, I would have attacked you then? Or—better yet—I would have avoided getting tied up at all, by taking you both out, _before _removing my Cloak?"

"Possibly," James conceded. His wand wavered, but he didn't lower it. Neither did Lily. "But then again, this could all be part of some elaborate trap… Dumbledore warned us that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has an unhealthy interest in our family."

"What kind of trap involves killing Voldemort and bringing you his corpse?"

"How do we know that's really You-Know-Who? Or that he's really dead?" asked Lily, unsure what to believe.

Harry groaned in frustration—the pair of them were worse than Mad-Eye Moody…

Luna, fortunately, wasn't quite so easily discouraged. After a moment of contemplation, she asked, "Do you think Veritaserum would convince you?" her expression pensive.

"And where do you propose to get Veritaserum?" asked James.

"At Hogwarts, of course," she answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "The Headmaster is bound to have some, and we need to talk to him anyways."

Harry was quick to agree, "Sirius and Remus are meeting us at the Headmaster's office."

"Why are you meeting Sirius and Remus?" demanded James, his voice edged with suspicion once more, "You trying to brainwash them too?"

Harry sighed. "I ran in to Sirius at the house before I left. He's not half as distrustful as you, and promised to go get Remus. There was no brainwashing involved."

"And I suppose you expect us to just lead you through the Hogwarts wards—into Dumbledore's stronghold?" asked Lily.

"Would it help if I let you tie me up and take away my wand?" Harry offered, struggling to control his growing frustration. _This wasn't how things were supposed to be! His parents were supposed to love him, no matter what, not hold him at wand point._

A small nod from Lily was the only warning Harry got before his arms were magically wrenched roughly behind his back, and his wrists tightly bound. Her next spell drew his ankles suddenly together and he found himself toppling over, with no way to catch his fall. Were it not for a third spell arresting his downward momentum, he would most likely have landed flat on his face.

"How am I supposed to walk with my legs tied together?" he complained, struggling to right himself.

"You don't need to walk," answered Lily, as she dug around methodically in his pockets for his wand, her expression carefully blank.

She was so agonisingly close that Harry could smell her, the scent calling up subconscious memories of unconditional love, comfort and protection. A wave of emotion flooded him—he wanted so badly to hug her, for her to hold him in her arms—but bound as he was he had no way to act on the impulse. If she noticed the silent tear that fell down his right cheek, as she located his wand and placed it in her pocket, she gave no indication of it.

Stepping back, she used her own wand to cast _Mobilicorpus _on both time travellers, and on Voldemort's dead body. Finally, she directed all three towards the entrance of the tunnel to Hogwarts. James followed in silence, pausing briefly to collect a sleeping baby Harry from the cot his mother had conjured for him.

Fortunately, there weren't any students up and about at such a late hour, so although they caught the attention of a number of portraits, the unlikely procession avoided running into anyone on their way through the castle. They stopped short upon reaching the seventh-floor entrance to the headmaster's office; none of them knew the password.

Harry was all set to start guessing Halloween treats, but Luna cut him off. "We've got urgent business with the headmaster, Gus," she addressed the office's guardian gargoyle, "Could you let him know?"

"Gus?" asked Harry in confusion, but Luna didn't answer.

A moment later, the gargoyle leapt aside, and Lily wasted no time directing her prisoners up the stairs. From his vantage point hovering a few steps behind Voldemort, Harry had the rare pleasure of seeing the headmaster look momentarily shocked. However, by the time Lily deposited her prisoners and the rest of the group had made it up the stairs and into the office, Dumbledore had regained his composure. The older wizard's eyes were twinkling once more as he greeted James and Lily, offering them each a lemon sherbet and a seat, but ignoring the bound forms of Harry and Luna.

When no explanation of their identity was forthcoming, after several minutes, he finally asked, "What brings you out of hiding and to Hogwarts tonight? And how did you come upon your prisoners? The unconscious one looks remarkably like Voldemort, and this other one bears you an uncanny resemblance, James," he indicated Harry.

"He just showed up at Godric's Hollow claiming—" James began to explain, but Harry cut him off, "The _dead _body looks like Voldemort, because it _is_ Voldemort—or one sixth of him anyways," he explained, "and I look like James because he's my father, a fact that I can't seem to convince him of."

"I see," Dumbledore regarded Harry intently and the young wizard allowed the headmaster to meet his eyes. He didn't resist as he felt the Legilimens begin to skim through his thoughts, subtly at first, then more intensely as he sensed Harry's willingness.

Finally, seemingly satisfied by what he'd found, Dumbledore withdrew from Harry's mind. "I do believe the situation warrants a more in depth explanation," he said, his eyes twinkling once more, "I'm quite intrigued."

Harry nodded. "I've already promised my parents that I'd explain everything under the effects of a truth serum, but," he hesitated, "I'd prefer to not having to repeat myself. Do you think we can wait until the others get here?"

"Others?" asked Dumbledore, "Who else did you invite?"

"Just Sirius and Remus."

The Headmaster nodded, "I see no harm in waiting for them, though perhaps you'd like to sit down too while we wait; you're the only one still standing."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry sunk gratefully into the armchair that had materialised behind him. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to untie me…" he asked, as he struggled to find a comfortable position that accommodated his bindings.

"Alas, Mr Potter—it is Mr Potter, is it not?"

Harry nodded, "Harry Potter, sir."

"Well, Mr Potter, despite the fascinating memories you shared with me just now, I do think I would prefer that you remain bound for the moment. Just until we've gotten everything cleared up? The mind is a tricky landscape, capable of misdirection, and one must be cautious in these difficult times."

Harry sighed and thought it ironic to hear this from a wizard that would one day hire Quirrell, Lockhart, and Crouch Junior disguised as Mad-eye Moody to teach schoolchildren.

"That's not to say that I'm disinclined to make you more comfortable, while we wait."

He pointed his wand at Harry causing the ropes binding his wrists to shift so that they were bound to the chair instead of behind his back.

"And perhaps, while we wait, one of you would be so kind as to introduce the quiet young lady tied to the other chair."

"Luna Lovegood, sir," Luna spoke up, "It's good to see you alive and well again, Headmaster."

"Lovegood..." pondered Dumbledore, stroking his beard as he did so, "You wouldn't happen to be a relation of Xenophilius Lovegood , would you dear?"

"He was—is—my father," Luna replied, stumbling over her verb tenses.

"You came with Mr Potter?" asked the Headmaster.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"And where did you both come from?" he asked.

"We came through Merlin's Ring," she answered.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose abruptly, "Truly? But it's regarded as only a myth…" he shook his head in disbelief, "I'm quite sure that there's a fair bit more to that story…" He appeared to hesitate for a moment, but seemed to decide against asking anything further just yet.

Instead, the group fell into an awkward silence, which fortunately didn't last long. After only a minute, it was broken by the sound of shouting coming from the bottom of the spiral staircase, "Let me by you stone buffoon, the Headmaster's expecting me."

Harry recognized Sirius's voice but before he could comment, the yelling was replaced by two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs.

It was time to tell his story…

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 15; your response was overwhelming: **sarah-rose76646**,** AJ Granger**,** Wulffe**,** Treant Balewood**,** Pirate Queen ofthe 21st centry**,** Barranca**,** David M. Potter**,** 1sunfun**,** Dr Stranger**,** Mechconstrictor**,** dude**,** serialkeller**,** sachaelle**,** wellivazey**,** marcus nightfire**,** Moon Pix**,** Brodus**,** Riniko22**,** gaul1**,** Belgrath**,** Jedi Master Albus**,** MaeSilverpaws1**,** Ceti H. Black**,** Daerwin45**,** avid reader**,** Anthro79**,** RRW**,** Blazen**,** Master Procrastinator**,** Penny is wise**, and 2 anonymous** Guests**. Remember everyone; I can't respond if you don't sign your reviews...

Many thanks, as well, to the 468 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	17. Chapter 17

"Sirius! Remus! You made it!" Harry exclaimed in relief, breaking into a wide grin as he caught sight of first his godfather, then Remus crowding into Dumbledore's office to join his parents. "No side-trips then, Sirius?"

"Huh? What?" asked Sirius, sounding puzzled, "Side-trips?"

Harry's smile widened—was it possible that it hadn't even occurred to Sirius to foolishly take off after Wormtail on his own? He opened his mouth to explain, but Sirius cut him off, "Wait a minute! Why are you tied up?" as his mind finally registered the scene before him.

Harry sighed, his frustration at the current situation leaking through, "Apparently, you're too trusting, Sirius," he explained, "My parents want to dose me with Veritaserum; the Headmaster agrees…"

"Truth serum!" Sirius exclaimed, all questions about side-trips forgotten. "What do they need truth serum for?"

"To ascertain the truth of Mr Potter and Miss Lovegood's tale, of course" responded Dumbledore, "If you and Remus would take a seat, we can get started."

Sirius looked ready to continue arguing—it made Harry smile to know that _somebody_ was on his side, though it raised questions as to why his godfather was so vehemently opposed to the idea—but Remus placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Enough, Sirius. The Headmaster has a point. If you're right and he's telling the truth, Veritaserum will confirm it; if he isn't…"

Sirius continued to grumble—something about invasion of privacy—but he _did_ sit down.

Dumbledore ignored the grumblings and smiled benevolently, his eyes twinkling, as he turned his attention back to Harry, "Are you ready, Mr Potter?"

Harry gulped nervously, twisting around one last time to meet his parents' eyes—hoping for some indication that they'd changed their minds and decided to believe him; he didn't find what he was looking for.

Instead, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut. His mind made up, he turned back to the Headmaster, and nodded. If taking Veritaserum was what it took to gain his parents' trust, he was willing to do so.

Dumbledore pulled a vial of clear liquid from the top drawer of his desk and approached Harry. Steeling himself, the young wizard opened his mouth, without being asked, and allowed three drops of the potion to be placed on his tongue.

It began to work within a few seconds. The potion lacked the subtlety of the Imperious Curse, but, unlike _Imperio_, Harry found himself unable to resist its effects. He was only vaguely aware of the Headmaster warning the others against interrupting the interrogation, too busy dealing with an overwhelming compulsion to be completely and immediately honest about _everything_.

As long as no one asked any questions, he could just barely control the urge. But, the moment Dumbledore asked him for his name, the answers began spilled forth without any conscious thought.

His mind barely registered Lily's gasp of surprise—or was it disbelief at his response? He was too busy answering the next question.

And so it continued—question after question, with no time for Harry to think. They were simple questions though—chosen to quickly ascertain that Harry was who he claimed to be and not an agent of the Dark Lord. And really, the whole interrogation could not have lasted more than five minutes. Still, Harry was relieved when it was finally over, the Headmaster fell silent, and the bonds on his ankles and wrists dissolved.

Apparently, so was Luna, "Oh thank you! That's much better, Headmaster!" she exclaimed. "Can I have a sherbet lemon now that my hands are free? I really like the Cheering Potion you usually mix into them."

Harry didn't get a chance to hear Dumbledore's response; in the next moment, he found himself overcome by a mind-splitting headache, as everyone else took the Headmaster's silence as licence to begin asking questions. They spoke all at once, at a rate far too fast for him to respond coherently—though he did try, "I—He—It—No—We—When—"

"Can't you see you're hurting him!" Luna's voice pierced through the overwhelming melee of questions.

_Silence. _The questions stopped just as abruptly as they had begun.

As his headache faded, Harry opened his eyes—which he couldn't actually remember closing—and took in the scene before him. The baby was still sleeping—how he didn't know—but everyone else was sitting on the edge of their seats. They were silent, but it was quite obvious that they still had many questions that they wanted to ask.

The tension of the unanswered questions was palpable. Finally, the Headmaster spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence, "I did warn you all that the effects of Veritaserum would compel our young guest to answer all questions thoroughly and immediately. Inability to comply is quite painful, as you just saw." His eyes twinkled as he added, "Perhaps it would be best if we let him tell his tale at his own pace."

Reaching back into his desk drawer, he pulled out a second vial, this one containing a murky yellow potion, which he handed to Harry. "The antidote," he explained, "It's a single-dose vial."

Harry accepted it gratefully, and downed the entire vial in one gulp, sighing in relief as he felt the Veritaserum's compulsion fade almost immediately. "Thank you, Headmaster," he glanced back at his parents, taking in the mixed emotions reflected on their faces—at least they were no longer hostile. "So how far back do I need to start?" he asked, "Has everyone here heard the 'prophecy'?"

Harry wasn't particularly surprised when Dumbledore shook his head in response. "Heard of the 'prophecy'?" he tried again.

This time Harry felt a surge of irritation, when the Headmaster once more responded in the negative. "Not even Lily and James?" he asked.

When Dumbledore shook his head a third time, Harry felt not just a surge of irritation, but one of anger as well. "You didn't even tell my parents why Voldemort was after us?" he accused, struggling to control his temper, "What _did_ you tell them?"

"Only that your family had been targeted by Voldemort and that it was crucial to the war effort that they remain in hiding." If Harry had been hoping for an apology, he didn't get one. "That was all they needed to know."

"I see..." said Harry, his voice hard. It took a moment before he could calm himself enough to continue, "Well then, I suppose that's where this story begins...Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"

When Dumbledore didn't volunteer any information, Harry continued, "A year ago, Professor Dumbledore heard what he believed to be a prophecy," he began. Ignoring the Headmaster's reaction to his choice of words, he launched into first a recitation of Trelawney's 'prophecy', then an explanation of why he thought it was a self-fulfilling load of dung.

He'd then followed up with a few highlights about his childhood—Lily had objected quite vehemently when she'd heard that he'd lived with the Dursleys, which had led to Sirius asking where he'd been and why he hadn't taken his godson in himself. The older wizard had barked in disbelief when Harry had explained that he'd been in Azkaban, sobering only after Harry explained _why_, bringing to light the full extent of Wormtail's treachery.

Harry's abbreviated account of his Hogwarts years had similarly met with much consternation. But since neither his childhood nor his Hogwarts years were the focus of his tale, he refused to answer any but a couple of questions about them. Instead, he focused on recounting his hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes, the final battle—particularly the death toll—and his reasons for invoking the Ritual of Merlin's Choice, skimming over most of their journey.

By the end of Harry's tale the Headmaster's expression was carefully blank and his eyes had stopped twinkling. The others—except Luna who had heard nearly of it all once before, and lived through the rest—mostly looked shocked and overwhelmed, with elements of confusion, sadness, disbelief, and horror. They'd need some time to assimilate what they'd just been told.

Tonight was not the time to start planning an assault on Voldemort's Horcruxes much as Harry might like to. So, when Lily suggested that they all get some rest and continue their discussion the next day, Harry didn't object. Nor did he complain as first Remus, then Sirius left through the Floo, though he desperately wanted to catch up with them both.

James had looked ready to head through the Floo as well, but Lily had lingered, approaching Harry hesitantly, as though unsure if she still had a right to, "So where are you staying tonight?" she asked.

"I don't know," answered Harry, honestly. He and Luna hadn't really talked about accommodations when planning their trip; he'd sort of assumed that they'd stay with the Potters. But that was before they'd stunned him, tied him up, interrogated him but refused to believe a word he said, held him at wand point—again, refused to believe a word he said—again, tied him up—again, levitated him around like a sack of potatoes, and then finally dosed him with truth serum…

So, instead of voicing his secret wish, he found himself responding, "We'll probably head on back to the Shrieking Shack. It should clean up well enough, without too much effort. If not, there's always the Room of Requirement."

Lily shook her head, surprisingly vehement in her objection, "No son of mine is squatting overnight in a rundown haunted shack. The two of you can stay with us."

"You do know it's not really haunted right?" cut in James.

"Haunted or not, it's still a dump! I really must insist."

"We wouldn't want to impose," said Harry, his fear of rejection making him suddenly wary of the offer.

"It wouldn't be an imposition. Please, for my peace of mind," she practically pleaded.

"And mine," added James, "I'm sure she'll keep me up all night with her worrying, if you refuse."

Harry looked to Luna for her opinion; she nodded. So, he relented "If you're sure," he said, still hesitant.

"I am," Lily insisted, "and while we're on the subject of impositions, I know we didn't get off to a good start, but..." she hesitated, "Please call me Mum."

"You held me at wand point and kept me tied up for a better part of the evening." He wanted to—he _really_ did—but part of him still remembered the feeling of betrayal and helplessness he'd felt earlier that night when he'd wanted so desperately to hug her and been unable to. "Calling you Mum doesn't seem like a good idea."

Disappointment flitted across Lily's face, "I'm sorry about that, I really am, but you have to admit that your story is pretty incredible," she said, "Would you have believed it, if you were us? These are dangerous times and we have a baby to protect."

Harry hesitated, but if he was perfectly honest with himself, there was no denying that she was right. Finally, he nodded, "I understand…Mu—Mum," he had a hard time getting the last word out.

Lily smiled, "Good."

She bent to collect her young son from the cradle where he was _still_ sleeping. "The Floo address is Potter Cottage," she added as she stepped through herself, with young Harry in her arms. James went next, followed by Luna.

Harry brought up the rear, stumbling out of the fire just in time to hear James ask Luna, "So, one room or two? You never did answer my question, earlier..."

"Which question was that?" Harry interrupted, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Are the two of you a couple, or not?" asked James, "It makes a difference for sleeping arrangements, you know."

Harry shook his head, "We're just good friends; Luna is my closest friend to have survived the war..." He missed the look of disappointment that flitted across Luna's face, "But you don't have to worry about rooming us separately; we've been sharing a tent for the last four weeks..."

"Nonsense, why share a room with a woman you're not sleeping with, if you don't have to?" James asked, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Unless you're hoping to sleep with her, in which case, say no more..."

Luna smiled at his suggestion, but Lily was _slightly _less enthused with the idea, if the fact that she smacked her husband's arm in response was any indication. "Just for that _you_ get to transfigure the couch into a bed, while I show Luna the guestroom."

She stomped off, not even checking to see if Luna followed.

"It's not like she would have done it herself, either way," confided James, after she left. "She's pants at Transfiguration."

Lily popped her head back into the room, "I heard that!"

Once the two men were alone again, James set about transfiguring the couch into a bed, trying to engage his son in conversation, while he worked. He was only partially successfully. While Harry was willing to admit that the fact that he'd called Luna his 'closest friend to have survived the war' meant he'd lost many close friends, he'd refused to discuss the matter in any more detail than he'd already given in the Headmaster's office; the list was far too long, and the pain still too raw.

He nearly lost his temper a couple of times. But eventually James got the message and gave up, though not without adding, "I know you barely know me, and I understand that you don't feel comfortable talking about your feelings with me, but Lily's offer earlier goes for me too… I mean…" he stumbled over the words, "Please, feel free to call me Dad if you want to."

Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Good night, Dad," he tried out the words, as he crawled into the transfigured bed.

"Good night, son."

"You know that's the first time I've ever said that..." the words came out a barely audible whisper… But James heard him all the same…

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 16; your response was overwhelming: **Penny is wise**,** Anthro79**,** Pirate Queen ofthe 21st centry**,** Blazen**,** OldMasterMage**,** sarah-rose76646**,** boredinpgh**,** Tommy14**,** Barranca**,** Teufel1987**,** jbfritz**,** sachaelle**,** Wulffe**,** Zephyrical**,** gaul1**,** StormyFireDragon**,** AnFan-n-More**,** serialkeller**,** Daerwin45**,** monbade**,** RRW**,** Ceti H. Black**,** mwinter1**,** MaeSilverpaws1**,** geetac**, and 1 anonymous **Guest**. Remember everyone: I can't respond if you don't sign your reviews... Also please refrain from using profanities in your reviews.

Many thanks, as well, to the 518 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!

In less happy news, certain developments in RL, may result in a decrease in update frequency. Rest assured that this story will not be abandoned, but I am unsure of my ability to maintain a weekly posting schedule.


	18. Chapter 18

"Who you?"

Harry was greeted by a pointing toddler, the moment he stepped into the Potters' cosy kitchen, the morning after his interrogation in Dumbledore's office.

He smiled awkwardly at the child—at the miniature version of himself, "I'm Harry, pleased to meet you," and shook the sticky hand that the young boy had used to point at him. It felt fragile in his hand; had he really been that tiny once?

The child giggled mirthfully—his older self definitely couldn't remember ever being that carefree—and shook his head, "Nuh-uh, me Hawwy!"

"That's right," replied the teenager, "You're Harry, but I'm Harry too."

"Nuh-uh!" insisted the child, as he wondered who exactly the strange grown-up was; he who looked a little like Daddy, but he definitely _wasn't _Daddy.

"Uh-huh," countered the older boy, "One day, when you're big, you're going to look almost exactly like me—hopefully minus a few scars," he gestured to the faded bolt of lightning on his forehead, swallowing the wave of memories the action evoked—all the things he'd come back to prevent _this_ Harry from living through, "and maybe a little taller..." _This_ child would never be deprived of nourishment, the way _he _had been starved by the Dursleys.

"Nuh-uh!" insisted little Harry, though all he'd understood of the speech was that the stranger thought he'd look like him, one day, when he was big. When he was big, he wanted to be just like _Daddy_, not some stranger.

His counterpart sighed—had he always been so stubborn? Was he still so stubborn? Time for a change in tactics. "Fine, you're right, I'm not Harry; I'm Frankenstein's monster come to steal you away..." he responded, adding a growl at the end for good measure.

The toddler shook his head laughing, "Nuh-uh!" but—just in case the strange man really was planning to take him away —he searched the room for Mummy. He found her standing near the door to the big room where they ate when Padfoot and Moony and Wormtail came over. The strange woman he'd met earlier was with her, and Mummy was leaning on a big chair; her eyes were wet. Mummy smiled at him, and he felt safe. She wouldn't let the strange man take him away.

Harry followed the child's gaze, catching sight of Lily and Luna watching from the doorway leading to the dining room. He nodded at Luna and smiled shyly at his mother, before turning his attention back to the child, hopping around the table, as he asked, "I'm the Easter Bunny?"

His younger self giggled again, but disagreed, "Nuh-uh!" The Easter Bunny was a _bunny_! Mummy was giggling too, but her eyes looked sad.

He didn't have time to wonder why Mummy's eyes looked sad though, because now the dark-haired stranger was pretending to be Father Christmas. He shook his head vigorously, "Nuh-uh!" Father Christmas had _white_ hair and a _white_ beard.

"I know!" exclaimed the older boy. "I must be…Harry!"

"Uh-huh!" exclaimed the toddler, clapping. The stranger definitely wasn't Frankenstein's monster, or the Easter Bunny, or Father Christmas, maybe he _was_ called Harry—but he'd still rather look like Daddy when he grew up.

"So you finally admit it?" asked the older wizard, smiling. It warmed his heart to see the child giggling happily, especially when he considered that in the original timeline he'd have been a few hours away from being left on the Dursleys' stoop.

"Uh-huh!" The toddler grinned, still clapping.

There was more clapping, but this time not from the child. Harry's cheeks reddened and he spun around. Luna was grinning widely and clapping as she entered the room, pushing a dining room chair in front of her. Lily stood in the doorway, still staring intently. Her expression was difficult to decipher, but Harry thought he could make out a couple of tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and he struggled not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

He was saved from further discomfort when Luna walked over, and leaning in close, addressed his younger self, face to face, effectively drawing Lily's attention away from her older son. "Listen here, Harry. One of the first lessons you need to learn in life is never argue with yourself. You always lose… And you always win."

The toddler looked at her pensively, trying to make sense of what she'd said, before getting distracted and instead pulling at one of the earrings that she'd appropriated from the Room of Hidden Things.

The awkward silence which followed her speech, as Luna tried to reclaim her ear, and mother and son stared at each other from across the room, lasted only a moment before being broken by the sound of little Harry's giggles. Lily stepped fully into the room, dragging the chair that she had retrieved from the dining room behind her, the sound of wood on linoleum loud in the relative quiet of the kitchen.

As she pushed the chair into place beside Luna's at the table, Harry couldn't help thinking that Aunt Petunia would never have let him drag a chair like that, afraid it would damage her floors. Then again, Aunt Petunia would never have brought dining room chairs into the kitchen either, or let him just sit and watch as she finished breakfast preparations.

He offered to help, but Lily waved him away, insisting she didn't need the help. So, instead, he sat back down and soaked in the scene, from the homey furnishings to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

Within a couple of minutes, his mother lay a full plate of eggs and sausage in front of Luna, who had, by then, succeeded in freeing herself from young Harry's sticky grasp, and reclaiming her seat. "Eat up, children, there's nothing but skin on your bones," she said, as she lay a second plate—twice as full as the first— in front of Harry, before serving herself and sitting down in the seat beside the high chair.

Harry smiled shyly at the motherly admonition, "Thanks, Mum." It was strange how different it felt hearing the words from her than the hundreds of times Molly Weasley had uttered the same thing. He took a bite—savouring the taste of a homemade breakfast after a month of camping in Antarctica—then asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Sleeping," Lily smiled fondly, "Your father could sleep all day if I let him. Not that I'll let him though. The Headmaster sent Fawkes with a message; he's expecting us at one. I was thinking of leaving Harry with Alice and Frank—he and Neville always got along so well before we went into hiding. Now that the danger is over..." she trailed off, noticing how both time-travellers were shaking their heads emphatically, "What's wrong?"

"Not a good idea!" answered Harry, shaking his head more vigorously.

It was Luna who explained, "Voldemort might be incapacitated, but his Death Eaters are not. Both Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured to insanity by Crouch Junior and the Lestranges on November fifteenth.

Lily blanched, and brought her hand up to her mouth in shock, letting her fork clatter to the floor. "Oh, dear!"

"Of course, given the changes we've made just by coming here, they may decide to move up their plans...especially if you send Harry there," Luna continued.

"Then what are we waiting for!?" Lily jumped up, knocking her chair over in the process. How could they sit there so calmly and inform her that her good friends were going to be tortured—might be in the process of being tortured, this very minute—and do nothing? "We have to warn them!"

Luna put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We will; but there's nothing to be gained by rushing things," she shot a reproachful glance at Harry, in reference to his actions the night before. "They're not likely to just take us at our word, and we really don't have any way of knowing what miniscule things might have been changed by our being here…"

Harry nodded his agreement, "Neville was a good friend, and his parents didn't deserve what happened to them. But things are complicated; we need at least one of the Lestranges alive—and in our custody—in order to recover the Horcrux that they have hidden in their Gringotts vault..."

Breathing heavily in an attempt to calm her nerves, Lily turned her attention from Luna to Harry, glaring. There was _nothing_ complicated about the matter. "So you're going to sacrifice Alice and Frank, to get to one of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes!?" she exclaimed shrilly. For the first time since she'd met him the night before–since she'd realized that this was her little boy all grown up–Lily felt the stirrings of shame. Was this the type of person her son would grow up to be?

Harry shook his head vigorously, in denial, "No! No! I didn't say that. Just that it's going to take careful planning—something, I'm not very good at. So we really need to consider every angle before talking to the Longbottoms."

Lily's anger diffused somewhat. "I'll hold you to that, because if something happens to my friends because _you_ decided to use them as _pawns_ in your game against You-Know-Who, I'm not sure that I'll be able to forgive you—son from the future, or not," she warned.

Harry squirmed under her glare, her accusation running through his mind. He'd travelled back in time to _avoid_ being a pawn in the war against Voldemort, to _avoid_ his family becoming sacrifices to the cause… _Was he now doing the same thing to Neville's family? Reversing their roles? Turing them into pawns and sacrifices in his family's stead?_

No; he refused to be that person. He looked his mother straight in the eyes, as he responded definitively, "I promise, we will save the Longbottoms—even if it means letting the Lestranges go free." His conscience would never let him live with the alternative.

Lily felt a surge of pride. She nodded, the last of her anger draining away—though her hands refused to stop shaking—as she righted her chair and sat back down. Laying them flat on the table, she took a few calming breaths.

When she next spoke, her voice was musingly sad, "When did you get so old, Son?"

Their eyes met once more. "I'm eighteen years old, Mum," he answered, confused by the abrupt change in topic; one minute she was yelling at him, and now she was asking about his age?

"I know, and I've missed your entire childhood…You've grown into a man that I don't know…" There were tears glistening in her eyes. "But that's not what I meant," she continued, "Your eyes; they look so much like my own, and yet they look almost as old as Dumbledore's." She paused. "Eyes that old don't belong on such a youthful face. You're too young to be playing with people's lives…"

"I—uh—" Harry stumbled over his response, unsure what to say, how to explain. She already knew about the prophecy and all it entailed, so that wasn't what she was asking. He tried to reassure her that he was okay, that he didn't really mind his lot in life, so long as he could protect the people he loved and protect the child he once was from living the same life he had…but the words wouldn't come out.

Luna saved him the trouble of figuring it out, "Such are the consequences of war," she cut in. "Young men and women are struck down in the prime of their lives, while those left behind are aged beyond their years."

Lily turned towards her startled. "You're right, of course. It's just so hard to get my mind around… Last night, I had one son, one fifteen month-old little boy. Now my baby is still fifteen months old, but I've got another child—no, not a child," her voice cracked, "a grown son, almost as old as myself, an eighteen-year-old war veteran who has seen more of the world than I have…"

Luna smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lily," she patted the red-head's shoulder, and glancing over at Harry, added, "It's confusing for us too."

Harry watched the interaction uneasily from across the table for a moment, before making up his mind. There were butterflies in his stomach as he crossed the distance separating them and drew Lily into a hug, the hug he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember. It was made awkward by the fact that she was sitting, but she didn't push him away—as he'd feared. Instead, she drew him onto her lap, and returned the hug with all her strength. The position couldn't be very comfortable for her—he was half a head taller and at least a stone heavier, but she held him tightly and refused to let go.

She'd seen the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she hadn't been there to protect him from. Her baby had been thrown into a battle he'd had no place in, forced to grow up before his time. And yet, despite all his trials, he'd grown into a fine young man. She couldn't make up for all the years she hadn't been there, but she could give him this small comfort now, this tiny piece of her heart.

Despite the unconventional position, Harry found himself melting into the hug. He'd had hugs before—Mrs Weasley in particular liked to trap him in her embrace on a regular basis—but nothing compared to this, to the feeling of a mother's unconditional love and protection as she enveloped him in her arms and held him tightly. He didn't struggle to squirm free; he didn't want her to let go.

Lily dabbed at the tears in her eyes as they finally drew apart. "Anyhow," she tried to change the subject, "I'm glad to see you inherited my eyes instead of your father's vision problems..."

"I inherited both actually," explained Harry, "But I had the vision taken care of before I left home, when I realized that my glasses wouldn't survive the trip."

"Oh?" replied Lily, "But, I thought there was no magical solution for nearsightedness?"

"No magical solution, no," agreed Harry, "but for the right price, Muggles have been repairing people's vision with hi-tech lasers since the early nineties."

Lily laughed, "One more thing that the Muggles figured out before wizards then…So, it works?"

"So, far, so good."

Lily smirked mischievously, "Maybe in ten years we can convince your father to do the same…"

"Why so smug?" asked Harry.

Lily laughed once more, "Your father may not be a pure-blood fanatic, but he doesn't have a very high opinion of Muggles and their technology… My sister still refuses to talk to me since the argument he started with her husband at their wedding—about drills, of all things. Granted, we hadn't been getting along all that well before that—ever since I started Hogwarts—but _that _was apparently the last straw for her."

"Probably best if you wait fifteen, then." suggested Harry, smiling. "The earlier surgeries weren't quite as successful as the later ones."

She was smirking once more, as she stood, "Can you two watch the baby for a minute? I'm going to go wake your dad up."

A minute later, the two time-travellers burst out laughing when they heard James exclaim, "NO WAY!" from the master bedroom…

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 17: **ruby2360**,** DarkRavie**,** Wulffe**,** Mionefan**,** AJ Granger**,** Moon Gibbs Potter**,** Darth Drafter**,** Gavoon**,** AnFan-n-More**,** serialkeller**,** StormyFireDragon**,** Separ**,** sachaelle**,** gaul1**,** monbade**,** Riniko22**,and **Belgrath**.

Many thanks, as well, to the 554 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	19. Chapter 19

"Perhaps we should let young Mr Potter start things off."

Harry looked up startled. When his mother had told him that Dumbledore was expecting them in his office that afternoon, he'd assumed the older wizard would be running things in his usual fashion. He certainly hadn't expected Dumbledore to calmly set aside the ancient journals he'd been perusing, and then proceed to turn control of the meeting over to someone else—especially him.

"He has the most complete picture of the situation, as it stands now," the headmaster continued.

_Was Dumbledore just fishing for more information? _Harry glanced around the sunlit room uncertainly. Luna, the one person whose attention he sought, was the only one not paying him any attention; instead, staring intently at Fawkes who stood preening on his perch, as if in the middle of some silent conversation. Sirius and Remus were staring at him expectantly, and the Potters were smiling encouragingly and nodding.

Harry cleared his throat nervously, "Um, yes... well... I dumped a lot of information on you all, last night. I don't know how much of it any of you remember… So…uh…the most important thing to remember is: Voldemort—" he ignored the hitched breaths his cavalier use of the Dark Lord's name elicited, "is _not _dead. And unless we destroy every single one of his Horcruxes—"

Sirius, who was sitting near the door with Remus, shuddered. Harry paused briefly to make sure his godfather wasn't the only one to recall what he was talking about. Most of the group was frowning, but no one interrupted to ask, so he continued, "he has five, right now, though he meant to make a sixth last night—he will never die. He can and _will _come back. So hunting down and killing each and every piece of his soul needs to be our priority."

All the men in the room nodded their agreement, particularly Sirius, who had a determined glint in his eyes, but Lily seemed to disagree; Harry felt her bristle beside him. Remembering his earlier promise, he added, "_But_, there's plenty of time for all that," in an attempt to squelch, not her anger but also his rising feelings of self-recrimination for forgetting his resolution so quickly. "Dealing with Voldemort's Death Eaters is much more urgent. They won't stop killing, just because their Master is dead."

He gave the headmaster a hard look, his voice firm as he continued, "Luna and I memorised as many details as we could find about future Death Eater attacks, before we left. I want—no I need—your help to use _all _of it. No _sacrificing _anyone for the sake of _strategy._"

He'd expected Dumbledore to object, to launch into some speech about the need to make sacrifices for the _Greater Good—__the portraits behind the headmaster's desk definitely disapproved, mumbling in a recriminatory manner about the tone Harry had taken—_but surprisingly, the older wizard nodded instead. "Certainly."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He wondered if it _w__as it really possible that his presence in the past had changed the headmaster's outlook so profoundly. Had the older wizard seen something in Harry's memory that convinced him to change his views on sacrificing 'pawns'?_

"As long as you realise that the more we change things, the less accurate the information you brought with you will become," the headmaster continued.

Harry groaned. _Or perhaps the manipulative old wizard is just making promises he has no intention of keeping?_

Lily certainly thought so, if the glare she was levelling at Dumbledore was any indication. She looked positively livid, and probably would have started shouting at the headmaster if her husband, ignoring his best friends' looks of confusion, hadn't placed a calming hand on hers and whispered, "Don't worry…we won't let him sacrifice Frank and Alice."

The angry red-head pushed the offered hand away and stood abruptly, "Or anyone else?" she demanded, still glaring at the headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled back at her, from behind his desk, apparently unperturbed by the anger being directed his way, "I assure you, Lily, I have no intention of needlessly sacrificing anyone."

"It's the ones you decide _do __need_sacrificing that I worry about," she shot back, ignoring her husband's gentle grasp on her elbow, urging her to sit back down. The memory of how secretive he'd been, when warning them to go into hiding, was still too fresh in her mind.

Dumbledore's eyes lost a little of their twinkle, but he waved off the accusation and motioned her to sit back down. "Perhaps we should let young Mr Potter share what foreknowledge he possesses before making any decisions as to what to do with the information. I'm sure we can come up with a solution that is agreeable to all present."

Lily reluctantly reclaimed her seat, but didn't stop glaring—and not just at Dumbledore. A confused Remus, found himself fidgeting under the intensity of her glare, which she turned on both him and Sirius for not supporting her until James, immune after years of experience, took hold of her hand again and gave her a reassuring smile. This time she didn't push him away.

Harry sighed. He was sure the headmaster had the best of intentions, but he was inclined to agree with his mother's assessment of the situation. Unfortunately, he didn't really have any choice _but _to trust Dumbledore. Alone, he wouldn't be able to change much, even with the Potters' help.

Taking a final deep breath to clear his thoughts, he launched into a list of all the attack details he could recall. He hadn't spoken more than a sentence before Luna looked up from her staring contest with Fawkes and interrupted him with details he'd forgotten… and again… and again… Finally, after her fifth such interruption, in under five minutes, he gave up in frustration and just let her take over—she really was a lot better at reciting memorised dates and facts than he was.

Sitting back in the comfy chair Dumbledore had supplied, Harry watched the faces of the others present. Sirius was frowning intensely and kept shifting nervously in his seat every time Luna mentioned the name Bellatrix Lestrange. Lily, the most expressive of the group, kept squeezing her husband's hand—painfully hard if his intermittent grimaces were anything to go by.

Only the headmaster managed to remain impassive throughout Luna's entire recitation, the progressive lack of twinkle in his eyes the only sign that he was at all affected by the accounts of torture and murder. Even Remus, the most stoic of the younger men, reacted with a horrified gasp and dropped the quill that he'd been using to take notes, when Luna described the attack that led to the arrest of Antonin Dolohov—known for being one of Voldemort's most skilled torturers.

Dumbledore let the young witch speak without interruption, until she reached the end of her list. Only then, did he take back control of the meeting. At first, he tried to change the subject by asking for more details about Voldemort's Horcruxes, under the pretext that collecting some of them might be time sensitive, but a single glare from Lily was enough to cut off that line of conversation. So, instead, they returned to the matter at hand, establishing priorities based on urgency, and deciding which Order members to send to deal with which of the many upcoming attacks, until, by the end of their brainstorming, even Lily was satisfied that no victims were being forgotten or neglected.

Each Order of the Phoenix member present was quickly dispatched to set plans in motion, leaving only Dumbledore and the two time-travellers behind in Dumbledore's office; even Fawkes had been sent off with messages.

"And you two, what are your plans, now?" said Dumbledore.

Shaking the money pouch that Lily had lent him that morning, Harry turned to Luna and smiled, "How about we go get you a wand?"

* * *

"Harry Potter!?" Ollivander exclaimed the moment Harry and Luna stepped into the gloomy wand shop.

Harry nodded slowly, puzzled as to how the older wizard had identified him so quickly, but there wasn't really any point in asking.

"You're not due to receive your first wand for another ten years..." the shopkeeper continued.

Luna smiled reassuringly. "That's okay, Mr Ollivander. Harry doesn't need a new wand," she assured him, "I do"

The wandmaker turned his pale piercing eyes on her. "And you are?"

Luna opened her mouth to answer, but shut it again as he held up a slim hand to halt her response, pondering only a short moment, before answering his own question, "Ah! Yes, Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood and Epiphany Cientia. I wasn't expecting _you_ for another _eleven_ years."

Luna frowned. "I'm terribly sorry to show up so early, Mr Ollivander, but do you think I might have a wand anyway: Hawthorn, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, with a unicorn tail core?" she asked nervously. _She wondered if he would he refuse to sell her one. Had he not had a chance to make hers yet?_

"Irregular," muttered the wandmaker, "Highly irregular, but I suppose you must. Can't be having a grown witch walking about without a wand, can I?"

Luna smiled serenely, "Thank you so very much, Mr Ollivander. I'll take really good care of it, I promise. I won't be back for another eleven years, honest."

Ollivander grunted. "Yes well, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, with a unicorn tail core, you said?" he asked, fixing her with an assessing gaze.

Luna nodded.

"Highly irregular picking out your own wand…" he grumbled as he searched the thousands of dusty boxes lining the back wall for the wand in question, "Here, try this one."

Luna's face lit up as she caught sight of it, "Oh, yes! That's the one!" She gave it a flick and her smile brightened further, as it responded to her magic.

"I've missed you," she addressed the wand. Much as she'd appreciated the replacement wand Ollivander had sent her after their escape from Malfoy Manor, it had never truly replaced her first wand, the one that had chosen her.

Frowning suddenly in realization, she asked the wandmaker, "Do you think you can make another? For when I come back in eleven years?" She didn't want to deprive her younger self of the amazing joy of holding her wand for the first time.

Ollivander furrowed his brow, and muttered "irregular" under his breath a few more times as he considered the dilemma… the most difficult part would be tracking down the unicorn who had given him the original tail hair… Finally, after a long moment, he nodded briskly, "It should be possible."

Luna grinned. "Oh! Thank you! Thank you, Mr Ollivander!" she exclaimed, jumping up to hug the older man, "Thank you! Thank you!"

The wandmaker stiffened in her grip, but managed to answer, "You're welcome young lady."

Harry cleared his throat, causing Luna to let go of the flustered wizard as abruptly as she had initiated the hug.

Still beaming, she paid for the wand, and Harry smiled fondly after her as she practically bounced out of the shop.

The fact that she was still grinning madly when they returned to the Potters' cottage in Godric's Hollow, had the added benefit of raising Lily's spirits—a little—when the red-head returned home disappointed and frustrated after her conversation with Alice Longbottom. The Auror had brushed off all of her friend's concerns and warnings for her safety, insisting that she and her husband could take care of themselves.

Lily let the teenage witch hold her as she cried tears of fear, fear that they wouldn't be able to save her friend, fear that much as she wanted to, they couldn't save everyone…

* * *

**A/N: **My apologies for the long delay getting this chapter out and thank you for sticking with me. Fortunately my life has gone back to something resembling normal, so I should be able to post more regularly from now on.

Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 18: **ruby2360**,** Ginevra Annabeth Herondale**,** Sarah.A.A**,** Damix96**,** Serpent91**,** AJ Granger**,** Fawkes Flame**,** gaul1**,** Wulffe**,** Justafanboi**,** Dr Stranger**,** MaeSilverpaws1**,** DarkRavie**,** Teufel1987**,** AnFan-n-More**,** geetac**,** Wandering princess**,** Belgrath**,** god of all**, and** Penny is wise**.

Many thanks, as well, to the 622 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	20. Chapter 20

"Nope...Not me...No way!" Sirius shook his head emphatically, and banged his fist down on the table, as the images he'd just seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve flashed through his mind: venomous fangs long and thin as sabres, huge bulbous yellow eyes, a mouth wide enough to swallow a wizard whole…

No, there was absolutely no way he was volunteering to help Harry slay the thousand-year-old Basilisk currently hidden in the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, though quite understandably, neither was anyone else. Even Luna, despite her earlier talk of adventure, had murmured, "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not as brave as you are," when he'd looked her way.

The group, which comprised of both time-travellers, the Potters, Sirius and Remus—Dumbledore had been called away yet again for Ministry business—had been sitting around the dining room table of the Potters' home for over an hour, huddled around the Pensieve they'd borrowed from Dumbledore, and trying to make plans for destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes. So far, other than viewing some of Harry's memories, they hadn't made much progress.

"Is there truly no other way?" whispered Lily, still shaking several minutes after emerging from the Pensieve. She'd been paralysed with fear just watching the memory of Harry's visit to the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, watching her baby boy fight for his life. She wasn't letting him go back down there—not if she could help it.

Harry shook his head morosely, "According to Hermione's research, the Horcrux shell has to be 'beyond magical repair'. The only other thing I've seen work is Fiendfyre, which is even more dangerous. The Basilisk venom is our best shot for destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Remus, who sat across from her, fiddled nervously with the tablecloth. "Maybe we could just buy some Basilisk venom then?" he suggested.

Beside him, Sirius snorted, "Not likely! Aside from being a controlled substance, Basilisk venom is incredibly rare and prohibitively expensive—even my dear Mum has never been able to get her hands on some, with all the Black fortune at her disposal."

"What does your Mum want with Basilisk venom?" asked James, grateful for the temporary change of subject.

"Darned if I know," answered Sirius, shrugging. "Maybe she wants to poison someone—seems like overkill though… Whatever it is, isn't good, that's for sure..." he trailed off, shuddering at some of the possibilities that crossed his mind.

For a while no one else spoke; an awkward silence fell over the group. Several times, Harry opened his mouth to ask, once more, for volunteers, but each time he closed it again, without saying a word.

In the end, it was Luna that finally broke the silence, setting aside the quill she'd been fiddling with absently. "I don't know why you're all making such a big fuss about who has to _slay_ the Basilisk. Wouldn't it be simpler to just use a rooster?"

"A rooster!?" James laughed, half nervously, half mockingly "What's a rooster going to do against a Basilisk? Peck it to death?"

"Actually, she's right," Harry cut him off before his comments could degenerate further, "I can't believe I didn't think of it! A rooster's crow can kill a Basilisk; that's why Riddle kept killing off Hagrid's roosters my second year. If we bring a rooster along with us into the chamber, we won't even have to fight the Basilisk …"

"No, we just have to somehow convince a rooster to crow underground!" responded James, his tone pessimistic.

"Roosters don't have to see the sun to crow," Remus spoke up, "They crow at sunrise, even if they don't see the sun, or if they see a bright light at night…" As the former—or rather future—professor continued to lecture, Harry found himself smiling at memories of the year that Remus had taught at Hogwarts. "Or if they hear another rooster, or if they see…" The werewolf trailed off as he noticed everyone staring at him in surprise. "What? I grew up on a farm!"

"Well that settles that then," said Sirius decisively, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Settles what?" Remus asked the question, though he suspected he already knew—and wouldn't like—the answer.

"You know how to get a rooster to crow; therefore you're the best choice to go down into the Chamber with Harry."

Remus glared at his friend, but didn't contradict him. "Fine," he answered, then, noting Sirius' smug smirk, he added, "But only if you come too…"

Sirius' eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and he shook his head vigorously. "Harry doesn't need both of us."

"I don't know, Sirius," the aforementioned wizard came to Remus' defence, "I think it's only fair that if you're willing to volunteer someone else, you come along as well and…" Harry smirked, unable to resist adding, "if all else fails, we can always use you as bait."

Only James laughed—earning himself a glare from his wife, to match the one she directed at their son.

* * *

Harry and Lily met up with Remus and Sirius shortly before dawn the next morning, just outside the girl's lavatory on the second floor of Hogwarts. James and Luna had stayed behind to watch the baby, since there was really no need for them to all be there.

"This is a _girls'_ bathroom!" Moaning Myrtle objected loudly to their presence the moment the group stepped into the room. "What are you doing in here? Come to tease me?" She pointed a silver finger— and glared accusingly—at Sirius and Remus, "Come to prank me?" Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

"We're terribly sorry to bother you," Harry cut her off before she could start full-out wailing, "but, we've actually come to slay the creature that had killed you."

Myrtle's expression transformed abruptly. The tears, that moments ago had threatened to fall, disappeared. "Really?" she asked, timidly.

"Really," Harry assured her, "Will you let us work?"

The teenaged ghost smiled—one of the few times Harry had ever seen her do so—and nodded, floating off to sit in her usual cubicle, and leaving the group to finish their preparations in peace.

Lily watched as Remus cast a hex to render the rooster he'd brought with him temporarily blind, as protection against the Basilisk's deadly gaze, before casting a dozen duplications charms on it. "Are you sure the duplicated roosters are going to work as well as the original?" she asked, nervously.

"They should," he answered, "and really we're only taking the extra dozen as back-up, one rooster can do the job well enough on its own."

"And you're sure you can get them to crow at the right moment?" she asked, biting her lower lip anxiously, still reluctant to let them go, despite the precautions they were taking; she'd been out-voted.

Remus leaned against the nearest cubical, his posture deliberately relaxed, and smiled reassuringly, though in truth, he was just as nervous about the whole affair as she was, "They should crow naturally at sunrise, but if not, I know a spell that should do the trick." Actually, he was probably more nervous, since it was his neck on the line, if things didn't work out as planned.

Still unconvinced, Lily turned to Harry, and asked, "You're absolutely positive that you have to do this?"

Harry smiled, in an attempt to put her at ease. "We'll be fine, Mum," he promised, pulling her into a hug when it became clear that the words wouldn't be enough.

Lily clung to him tightly, and a long moment passed before she finally managed to swallow her fear enough to release him. Wiping a tear from her eyes, with one hand, she reached into one of her robe pockets, with the other, and pulled out a charmed toy microphone. She'd enchanted the device to translate the two phrases they'd need from English into Parseltongue, using Harry's Pensieve memory, since he could no longer speak the language: _'Open'_ and _'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'_

"Be careful," she implored, as she handed it to Harry, barely managing a half-smile.

"We will," he promised, smiling back at her once more, before stepping towards the entrance to the chamber and activating the device.

The four of them—and Myrtle—watched as the tap hiding the entrance to the Chamber began to glow and spin, and then—just as Harry remembered—the sink sank out of sight leaving a gaping hole in the floor.

Startled, Sirius gasped and jumped back from the neighbouring sink he'd been leaning on.

"You want to go first?" Harry couldn't resist teasing.

"If a couple of twelve-year-olds and a fraudulent coward could slide down that thing, I reckon I can too," Sirius rose to the bait, not about to admit how unsettled he was feeling.

Suppressing a shudder, he approached the gaping hole, but did not jump in straight away. First, he took control of half of the roosters with Mobilicorpus, and sent them hurtling down the pipe as guinea pigs. Only when he heard the muted echo of the birds reaching their destination did he lower himself to the ground, and placing with his feet in the pipe, follow them down.

Sirius had already scrambled to his feet by the time Harry joined his godfather at the base of the stone slide, less than minute later. The older wizard was covered in slime but grinning like a madman, "That was the best ride ever!" he exclaimed, all fear forgotten.

"Trust you to get an adrenaline high from sliding down a tunnel of slime, on your way to confront a thousand-year-old Basilisk..." Harry scrambled out of the way at the sound of Remus' voice coming down the slide—with the final seven roosters in tow—right behind him.

Harry responded with a half-smile, as he stood up, "A rather smart witch once pointed out to me that nothing's worth doing, if you don't try to have fun in the process."

Remus sighed, "Shall we move on, gentlemen—and I use the term loosely?"

Harry lit his wand. Now that they stopped talking, the cavern was eerily silent, except for the sound of their breath, and that of the roosters restlessly fluffing their feathers.

No one spoke, as he led the way down a dark, seemingly never-ending tunnel. The sound of their footsteps— and the occasional crunch when one of them accidentally stepped on a discarded animal bone—echoed through the passage.

Forewarned, he managed not to react to the sight of the huge Basilisk skins they came across in the tunnel. The others, though they'd both seen his Pensieve memories, didn't manage quite the same restraint. Remus jumped back at in shock, at the first one he saw, and Sirius both jumped back and _yelped_ like a girl. All the same, the skins still managed to raise Harry's hackles, bringing back memories of the last time that he had come this way.

When they finally reached the carving of two emerald-eyed serpents at the end of the passage, Harry paused to brace himself before activating Lily's charmed device once more.

However, no amount of preparation could truly ready him for the flood of memories that consumed him when he laid eyes on the chamber that awaited them on the other side. He shivered, despite himself. The memories evoked by the walk down the tunnel paled in comparison.

Still, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, and walk the length of the chamber towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end, the sounds of Remus and Sirius' footsteps echoing beside his.

Only when he reached it did he allow himself to stop, to stand silent in the spot where—years ago and a universe away— he had found an eleven-year-old Ginny near death. He shivered again as the haunting memory was replaced by another, by that of a sixteen-year-old Ginny, truly dead.

Harry sobbed; the grief he'd been burying since the funeral pushed its way through his carefully constructed barriers. One sob was all it took, to unleash the torrent of tears he'd been holding back. He'd been lying to himself for months, thinking that things were getting better—they weren't. He still felt the loss—the raw gnawing pain of it—as if she'd died just yesterday.

The footsteps at his side stopped, and Harry felt a comforting hand land on his shoulder, grounding him. He took a few deep breaths to try to calm his nerves. It didn't work. It wasn't fair! _Why did she have to die!? Why did any of them have to die!?_

Harry summoned every ounce of strength within himself. _Ginny isn't dead_, he reminded himself. _She's less than a year old, but she's very much alive!_ The pain eased a little, Ginny was alive, and he was going to keep her that way.

It felt like an eternity to Harry before he managed to completely stem the tears and recover his ability to speak. "The Basilisk is in a chamber behind this wall," he croaked hoarsely. Harry cleared his throat self-consciously and pointed.

Sirius, whose hand it had been on his shoulder, nodded. "So do we open it?" he asked, "Or wait until after the roosters have crowed?"

Beside him, Remus shook his head. "If that stone wall is as thick as it looks, I doubt we'll be able to actually kill the monster without opening it."

Both wizards turned towards Harry, for direction, waiting for him to make the call. "We'll open it right before sunrise," he decided, then looked down at his watch to check the time.

A minute later, he nodded, close enough. "Okay, everyone, close your eyes," he warned, activating Lily's device a final time with the phrase, _'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.' _

The sound of shifting stone, as Salazar Slytherin's mouth opened wide to permit access to the room beyond, filled the chamber. It was followed by the sound of the Basilisk beginning to stir and slither towards the entrance.

The fifty-foot snake hit the stone floor of the chamber with a giant thud. The roosters still hadn't crowed.

"They're not crowing!" exclaimed Sirius nervously, "Why are they not crowing?"

Remus didn't waste time answering. Instead, pointing his wand in the general direction of the roosters, he cast a spell he'd perfected as a teenager, one that never failed to cause the family rooster to crow, much to his parents' annoyance.

It didn't work. The Basilisk was still moving forward, hissing incomprehensibly.

_Of course! The roosters couldn't see the flashing bright lights his wand was emitting..._ The thought occurred to Remus—too late.

"They're supposed to be crowing!" Sirius' voice was high-pitched and panicky, "Make them crow!"

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Remus called out; maybe he could get the roosters to imitate him instead. Catching on to his strategy, Harry joined in, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

Still no response from the roosters…

The Basilisk kept moving slowly forward. It was almost upon them…

* * *

**A/N: **My apologies for the delay getting this chapter out, it took a little longer to edit than anticipated, hopefully the length makes up for the wait.

Many thanks, to my pre-beta **Hippothestrowl**, and to my beta **Arnel** for their input on this chapter. I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 19: **AJ Granger**,** Serpent91**, **Man of Constant Sorrow**,** Penny is wise**,** magitech**, **DarkRavie**, ** MaeSilverpaws1**, **god of all**, **Wulffe**, **geetac**, **mwinter1**, **gaul1**, **TheMysteriousGeek2345**, **RRW**, **Teufel1987**, and **Sarah.A.A**.

Many thanks, as well, to the 692 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


	21. Chapter 21

"_Cock-a-doodle-doo!" "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" "Co-cock-a-doo-doodle-d-doo!_" Sirius hesitantly joined in on the crowing.

There was still no reaction from the actual roosters.

The snake was so close that Harry could feel its breath. He started to back away, but it was coming at them too quickly. "Split up!" he called out, starting to run, even though he knew that it wouldn't keep them safe for long.

Hiding behind a stone column to catch his breath, Harry chanced a peek at the roosters. The stupid birds still weren't crowing. Instead, they were _preening nonchalantly_.

"They don't even look scared?" Harry panted, then, catching a flash of green in the corner of his eye, closed his eyes straight away. "Why don't they look scared!?" He was starting to think that maybe they should have brought Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, with them. But it was too late for that now.

"They can't see the Basilisk," croaked out Remus. His voice shook with fear.

"Can't they hear it!?" screamed Harry, just as Sirius yelled frantically, "THEN MAKE THEM SEE!"

"If I do that, the Basilisk's glare will kill them!" shouted Remus. He had tried to remain calm but now terror seized him. "We just have to wait it out. Roosters are unpredictable sometimes…"

"Remus, for Merlin's sake, do SOMETHING! If they don't crow soon we're all going to die!" roared Sirius.

"Harry! Sirius! TO ME!" shrieked Remus from far to Harry's left. "Keep this side of the roosters! The Basilisk must go through them to get at us!"

Harry had no time to respond. The great stone slabs rumbled beneath his feet as the great beast turned and slithered swiftly in the direction of Remus' voice.

There was a dreadful screech that ended abruptly. It didn't sound like it had been coming from ground level. Had the Basilisk just swallowed one of the roosters? Was it going to eat them all before any of them managed to crow? Just as Harry was about to give in to the panic, give up all hope, and conclude that the three of them were all going to die, the roosters began crowing in a deranged and panicked symphony.

They were finally crowing! "That rooster's death cry alerted the others!" shouted Remus. For the first time, Harry sensed hope in his voice.

The scraping sounds of the advancing Basilisk became frantic and irregular as the beast twisted and spasmed in pain, its hiss increasing in volume. There was a loud crash as its massive tail knocked down a nearby column, sending chunks of stone flying all over.

A boom reverberated through the chamber. And then there was quiet—except for the sounds of the roosters' continued frenzied and disordered crowing.

Remus dropped to his knees in relief, but kept his eyes closed, still fearful of the Basilisk's glare, still not convinced that it was really, truly dead…

Finally, as the last of the birds fell silent, Harry—arguably the bravest of the lot—chanced a cautious peek. He opened his eyes just a crack, ready to shut them at the slightest sign of movement. The giant green serpent was easy to spot, even through half-open eye-lids—it lay no more than five feet away. It wasn't moving.

Encouraged by the lack of movement, Harry opened his eyes completely. The snake was definitely no longer moving. Letting out the breath he'd been holding, he slowly approached the beast. No change. He gave the husk a solid kick. It didn't react. He grinned triumphantly, "I think it's dead."

Sirius, still trembling from the shock of their near-death experience, slowly opened his eyes, in response to the younger wizard's pronouncement. "Wow!" he said shakily, as he caught sight of the beast, the word escaping of its own volition. He swallowed hard and attempted a smile, "We just killed us a thousand-year-old Basilisk!"

Beside him, Remus pushed his fear own aside, and opened his eyes. Then, despite his pounding heart and wobbly knees, he pushed himself to his feet, tactfully ignoring the yellow puddle at his friend's feet. His knees buckled again as he got his first real look at the Basilisk—it was _huge—_but he managed to stay standing. Shuddering slightly, he forced himself to speak, "I suppose we should get to work extracting its fangs, and harvesting the residual venom from its glands." However, he hesitated because, in truth, the idea of getting any closer to the giant serpent filled him with dread.

A full two minutes passed before he managed to move. Instead, Remus stood rooted in place, staring at the serpent's enormous mouth, the mouth that had been less than a minute away from swallowing him whole, the mouth that they would soon need to open in order to get to the Basilisk's venom…

Finally, he crouched down by the snake's enormous head to unshrink and unpack the equipment he'd brought with him—and found himself face to face with one of its giant bulbous eyes…

Shivering, once more, he made a conscious effort to turn away, to focus on the task at hand. It wasn't easy, but as long as he thought of the carcass as a specimen to harvest for ingredients, and not as the beast that had almost eaten him, he could keep himself from shaking uncontrollably, and concentrate enough to do what needed doing.

Barking orders at the others to get them to do their share also helped him to control his own nerves—not that Remus could ever actually bark; he was much too soft-tempered to even raise his voice. And…with three sets of hands to do the work, the harvesting was finished much more quickly. Still, working in the shadow of the giant corpse, it felt like hours, before they finished, and could start packing up.

As Remus carefully placed the fruits of their labour into a magically reinforced wooden crate—ignoring the looming carcass behind him—Sirius worked on banishing the duplicated roosters and capturing the original—who was surprisingly agile at evading capture, slipping from his grasp and dodging his spells, despite being completely blind.

When they finally picked up the container, and headed back the way they had come, leaving the giant husk behind them, Remus felt like a huge load had been lifted from his shoulders, as if he could finally breathe easy again. He allowed Sirius and Harry to carry the crate holding the venom and fangs—reluctant to cast too much magic on it, in case of adverse reactions—and instead took charge of the rooster—it liked him better anyway.

There was no need to call for Fawkes when they reached the base of the pipe leading out of the underground cavern—he was already waiting for them. His wizard they found at the top of the pipe, waiting in the dingy second-floor lavatory, alongside a nervous Lily and a giddy Myrtle.

"It appears that you were successful at your task." The headmaster's eyes twinkled, as they fell upon the crate that Harry and Sirius carried between them. "Perhaps, now we can begin the task of collecting and destroying Voldemort's soul fragments—which you seem to keep putting off?"

Harry smiled back at him, not about to let Dumbledore's twinkle unbalance him. "Sure! We can destroy the diadem right away if you'd like." He hadn't been putting things off, just insisting on doing them in the right order. "Can you call James and Luna, while I go get it?" He'd promised Luna that she could be the one to destroy the diadem, and besides, it could serve as a concrete example for the group of how tenacious Horcruxes could be. "Have them meet us in the Room of Requirement—"

"Now!?" Lily interrupted, her voice shrill. She'd finally started to relax a little after seeing the three men emerge unscathed, and now her son wanted to run towards danger—_again_? "You just finished off going up against a fifty foot snake, and now you want to run off _again,_ without even telling us where you're going."

Harry sighed, caught between being grateful that he had a mother to worry about him and being frustrated because she was worrying needlessly. "Retrieving the diadem won't be dangerous, Mum," he promised, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. "It's right here in the castle, in the Room of Requirement. It won't take me more than fifteen minutes to find—and it's not even booby-trapped."

Lily frowned, after what she'd seen of his memories, she wasn't convinced. "I'm not sure I trust your definition of _dangerous_," she said, her voice hard.

"I—" Harry started to defend himself, but Remus, recognizing the look in Lily's eyes, cut him off with a question, "That's the second time you mention the 'Room of Requirement. What _is_ the 'Room of Requirement', exactly? _Where_ is it?" in an effort to distract the red-head from her imminent tirade.

The question caught Harry by surprise, and he found himself looking back and forth between Sirius and Remus, in disbelief. "You mean you never found it?" Both Marauders just stared back at him blankly. "You mean to tell me that Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, never found the Room of Requirement, despite seven years of exploring and mischief making?" Still no indication that either of them knew what he was talking about…but now Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling intensely. Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.

"Sorry," he choked out when he finally got his breath back under control. "I've always wondered why the Room isn't on the Map…but… really? You never found it?"

"Umm… no," answered Sirius, "I mean, yes, we never found it. Of course, we don't know what 'it' is, so maybe we did…"

Harry smiled mischievously. "Bet it was a broom closet when you found it… The Room of Requirement is a room that can become anything you 'require'—if you know how to use it. Come, I'll show you… You can help me find the diadem while we wait for James and Luna."

Dumbledore frowned, and cleared his throat. "Is that really necessary, Mr Potter? Surely, it would be simpler if you and I were to deal with the Horcrux on our own…and everyone else just went home."

Harry shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't like the secrecy, and I think you might be underestimating how difficult it is to destroy a Horcrux; I was hoping to use the diadem as a demonstration for _everyone_." He smirked, "Also, I promised Luna she could have this one. She's a Ravenclaw, you know."

Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows, none too pleased with the decision, but he didn't argue the point further, instead nodding his agreement, as he took his leave. "Very well. I will call them, and join you shortly."

Harry smiled, after him, but as he turned to follow him out, and lead the others towards the Room of Requirement, Lily grabbed his arm, stopping him. "We weren't finished our conversation, young man."

Harry wasn't about to let himself be deterred, not after winning his argument with Dumbledore, "You can come, too, if you like, Mum. I promise that it's nothing dangerous—unless you're worried about getting buried by several centuries' worth of junk."

Lily looked from Remus to Sirius, and then back again. Both were grinning like Cheshire cats. She sighed loudly, in exasperation, and then nodded reluctantly, out-voted_—again._ Hopefully, she wasn't being roped into anything _too_ dangerous…

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta **Hippothestrowl** who was instrumental in making the opening scene of this chapter what it was, and also to my beta **Arnel** for her input on this chapter.

I would also like to take a moment to thank all the _many_ wonderful people who reviewed chapter 20: **AJ Granger**,** blackcallalily**,** minglejingle**,** Thracer**,** LordNemesis**,** SupaCrazee**,** god of all**,** riffin121294**,** Wulffe**,** Dr Stranger**,** RRW**,** magitech**,** Vukk**,** Belgrath**,** Penny is wise**,** MaeSilverpaws1**,** gaul1**,** jbfritz**,** mwinter1**,** Serpent91**,** Flying Raijin**,** Lord worth**,** Lordban**,** DarkRavie**,** Teufel1987**,** sunsethill**,** Justafanboi**,** bigbangfan91**,** Sarah.A.A**, and the wonderful** Guest **reviewer that neglected to leave his or her name. If you don't sign your reviews, I can't respond…

Many thanks, as well, to the 752 people who have me and/or this story to their favourites and/or alerts. If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you!


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